


you're where the edge began

by alonsos



Series: stars are the only things we share [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Reunions, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alonsos/pseuds/alonsos
Summary: “What happened? After I died.”Two and a half years later Grantaire has finally made it home... but home is a word that's lost its meaning, and part of him still feels like he's on a planet millions of miles away. Sequel to theMartian AUthat no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood/gore in this chapter.

His head snapped up as the infirmary door opened. A flash of blonde hair, and then—

"Hi," Enjolras said breathlessly. He had paused directly in front of the door, frozen in astonishment. 

Grantaire stared back at him, unsure whether it was the pain medication or not, before letting out his breath in a rush. _“Hey._ Oh my god.”

Still standing in the doorway, Enjolras had a completely blank expression on his face. After a few seconds of absolute silence his eyes widened and he ran his fingers through his hair, as though debating what to do next. _He grew it out,_ Grantaire noticed absentmindedly. Finally Enjolras let out a unsteady breath and crossed the space between them in two strides. _“Hi,”_ he said again through his gasps, throwing his arms around Grantaire’s thin frame.

 _“Oof!”_ He winced at the sudden embrace. 

“You’re here,” Enjolras sobbed, face buried in Grantaire's shoulder. “You’re _here,_ I just-"

“So are you,” Grantaire said, trying not to grit his teeth. “Careful, my ribs are…” 

“Oh, _fuck!_ Sorry,” he said, hastily wiping tears from his cheeks as he sat up. “Shit. I wasn’t thinking.”

Grantaire shook his head in amusement, already ignoring the brutal pain radiating from his torso. “That’s supposed to be my line,” he chuckled. Enjolras let out a shaky laugh, rolling his eyes. “You’re here. Wow, I thought you’d be in Paris.”

The blonde looked up at him, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he said simply. “Do you really think we’d wait that long?” 

 _“We?_ So the doctor was right.”

Enjolras smiled back at him and nodded in affirmation. “Everyone is here.” He noted Grantaire’s fleeting glance around the empty room and felt a slight pang in his chest.

“They’re…?”

“Outside. The doctors are only allowing one person in at a time,” he said bitterly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Damn,” Grantaire said softly, trying not to feel as though his heart broke a little. “How did you decide, then?”

A sheepish grin appeared on Enjolras’s face. "We didn't… They were still debating it when I just walked in."

Grantaire’s brief laughter lit up the room and Enjolras beamed at the sound. After a few seconds, though, he fell into a fit of coughing, clutching his chest as Enjolras watched on helplessly.

“Are you okay?” He demanded, looking around for a water pitcher.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire wheezed. “It’s not a big de-"

“Shut it,” Enjolras retorted automatically—fonder than he might have in the past, though. Grantaire’s low, raspy chuckles that echoed around the room in response made him crack a smile. “Sorry. Was that too Joly of me?”

“No, no, that was very much Eponine. Beck, too.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as Grantaire sipped the water. The only sound was the constant _beep_ of the heart monitor—the significance of which was not lost on Enjolras. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured to the chart on the bedside table. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” Grantaire said with a small flourish. His shoulders tensed as Enjolras scanned the document. 

Enjolras didn’t really know what to expect, other than what Joly had warned them about, but he didn’t expect the words to turn his blood turn into ice. He almost felt nauseated, reading line after line of diagnosis. His frown must have grown more pronounced than he thought, because Grantaire gently took the chart from his grasp. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated gently, trying to ignore the alarm on Enjolras’s face. 

The atmosphere in the room changed then, and a million unsaid words lay between them. Two and a half years suddenly seemed much longer, and they both knew there was no going back. 

Grantaire opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but desperate to regain the casual joy that had been there before. Just then though, the door opened and the arrival of the medical staff rescued him from having to brush off the seriousness of his condition. Enjolras turned his head away for a brief moment, hiding the emotion on his face. 

“Benjamin,” the one in front said. “I’m Dr. Scott, sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you on the tarmac. It’s nice to see you awake and talking.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grantaire said with a soft smile, He sent the smallest of glances at Enjolras, who now showed no sign of his earlier worry. _Ever the diplomat,_ he thought. 

“I just wanted to let you know that we’ve finished running tests and are pleased that you’re doing better than first estimated thanks to Dr. Beck's treatment. It could be much worse. However...”

Grantaire almost snorted at the comically surprised look Enjolras shot him. He hadn’t read his own chart but he guessed it was bad. _Not the worst then? Jesus._ With a sigh he looked back up at the doctor. “What’s the catch?”

Dr. Scott smiled ruefully. “The catch is you’re still in really bad shape. I do have a question, first. Do you, at any point, remember a single event that put significant strain on your heart?”

He thought for a minute, feeling Enjolras’s burning gaze on him. “Uh...” he began awkwardly, shifting in his bed. “I mean, I’m sure there were several... instances...”

“The tests conducted on the Hermes wouldn’t have detected this, but from what we can tell it looks like you had a heart attack while you were on the surface of Mars. I was just wondering what the direct cause was. It’s possible you had two, actually.”

“Gran _taire-"_  Enjolras started slowly, his voice rising by several octaves on the second syllable. 

“I’m _fine,”_ he hissed back. They scowled at each other.

Dr. Scott looked between them for a few moments and raised an eyebrow before continuing. “As I was saying, the damage from that, combined with the malnutrition, took a toll on your blood vessels. We’re going to have to perform a heart valve replacement, without a doubt.”

They all were silent for a minute, and Grantaire belatedly realized Enjolras had taken his hand. “Uh. Okay then,” he said, voice higher than normal.

“When?” Enjolras asked shortly. 

“As soon as possible. Normally you would have had this done earlier, but...”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said softly. No one had to say anything else about _why_.

“Additionally...”

Enjolras balked at the doctor’s tone. “Wait, _more?”_

“Afraid so,” Dr. Scott said with a reluctant sigh. “When we perform the surgery, we’re also going to try to repair your chest wall. From the mission reports it seems that you suffered significant internal damage when the Hab exploded, and then additional trauma from the MAV launch. You were lucky the rib fractures didn’t puncture your lungs, but I’m sure you’ve been aware of the damage every time you take a breath.”

He muttered something in response and Enjolras gripped his hand a little tighter. _Breathe,_ he thought, bracing himself for the brief wave of pain as he inhaled.

“Your ribs aren’t fully healed and we don’t want your lung to collapse because of it,” the doctor said. He flipped through the chart and looked up with a smile. “And to top it off, we’re going to remove your appendix.”

He blinked. “Seriously? My appendix?”

“Your tests from a few hours ago showed a high white blood cell count. You’re lucky this didn’t occur abroad the Hermes,” he finished brightly, turning to the other staff members to discuss the surgery. 

Grantaire shook his head and let out an incredulous laugh. 

 _“Why_ is this funny?” Enjolras demanded quietly, narrowing his eyes. 

“His idea of luck is just humorous, that’s all,” Grantaire murmured with a grin, hoping his demeanor would calm Enjolras. Maybe it worked, though, because the tightness around his eyes disappeared and he shot him a grateful look. 

Enjolras was just about to say something when the nurses began adjusting the monitors around them. “Wait,” he said, looking around in mild confusion. _“Now?”_

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

“We’ve got to do this as soon as possible,” one of them said brusquely.

Another nurse gave him a comforting look. “Otherwise it just makes the recovery process worse,” he explained gently. 

Enjolras unceremoniously stood up when they began to roll the gurney out of the room, and walked alongside them. He took Grantaire's hand. “But you didn’t even see everyone else,” he said. “What if-"

“Enjolras,” he said softly, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. “It will be fine. I made it this far.”

Their gazes were unbroken until they arrived at the entrance to the surgical wing. “This is as far as I go...” 

Grantaire suddenly felt the familiar sensation of floating as the anesthetic hit his bloodstream. _This is really nice medicine,_ he thought. His eyelids were heavy and he forced himself to speak before he went completely under. 

“I’ll see you later." The team of nurses and doctors continued down the corridor and their hands slipped apart. 

It was as though he was standing at the edge of sleep, looking over a vast, empty ocean of nothing. A place he where he knew wouldn’t be haunted by dreams—the corners of his mouth tugged up a little at the thought. Just before he abandoned himself to unconsciousness, a voice clearer than the rest of the muffled sounds caught his attention.

“I’ll be here,” Enjolras called from somewhere behind them. “We’ll all be here when you wake up, Grantaire!”

Enjolras couldn’t hear him, but he answered anyway. “I know,” a smile appearing on his face as the anesthesia rushed through his body. He felt himself falling. “I know you will.”

...

He swam in the stars for a long time, after that. In his dreams Grantaire dipped his hand into constellations and watched planets glide below him. The sound of his own heartbeat seemed to echo around the galaxy. He could turn his head to the side and see the bright blue of Earth twinkling in the distance—and when he turned the other way he could see a familiar bright red haze of Mars on the horizon of space. He hovered between the two, unsure of where he belonged.  

Grantaire blinked, and felt a hum of laughter resonate inside his chest.  _This is some kind of metaphorical shit._

...

The brightness of the ICU made a groan rattle out of his chest as he cracked an eye open. A nurse appeared in his line of vision, smiling down at him serenely. “How are you feeling, Grantaire?”

A string of incomprehensible words tumbled out of his mouth, and her smile grew wider. “The surgery was a success. I’ll let Dr. Scott and the others know you woke up.”

He tried to nod but the pain medication began to creep back along the corners of his mind. The nurse said something else but he was too far gone to understand her. The fog slowly tugged his eyelids down, and gave him a gentle push back into his dreams.

...

The lights didn’t seem quite as harsh when Grantaire finally opened his eyes again. As he glanced around the room for a clock his eyes fell to something on the bedside table, something he couldn’t tear his gaze from—a phone. _His_ phone, in the same battered green case, with a sticker on it that Gavroche had given him four years earlier. _Or was it five?_ The mundaneness of it took his breath away. The last time he had even seen it was on departure day, handing it to Feuilly only a few minutes before boarding the shuttle.  

For as many times as he’d fantasized about being back on Earth, the phone was not at the forefront of his mind. In fact, he’d really only thought about it on the journey _to_ Mars (and during brief moments of anger as he repaired Pathfinder) but it had otherwise slipped from his everyday thoughts. He had hungered for far more important things than a phone, but to see it sitting innocently on his bedside table made his mind go blank. 

How many pictures, videos, and _voicemails_ were still on it? How many memories that he’d simply _forgotten_ about?

With that realization Grantaire struggled to stretch and reach out for it, gasping sharply as he disregarded the intense pain from his brand-new incisions. Not that he cared in that moment, though. His fingers were only inches away from the table and his teeth were bared in exertion. An alarmed shout came from the hall, startling him from his efforts. He exhaustedly sank back in bed as someone darted through the doorway and abruptly stopped at his bedside.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Joly demanded without preamble. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re going to rip your stitches, you absolute fool-"

“Trying... to get the... phone,” Grantaire wheezed, clenching his eyes shut for a moment as the pain coursed through his torso. When he looked back up Joly had a stern expression on his face, and his arms were still crossed over his chest. Grantaire grinned lazily and raised an eyebrow. “You look pissed.”

Joly bit his lip in an effort not to chuckle and finally gave in, shoulders shaking with mirth. He carefully sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed Grantaire’s outstretched hand, holding it against his chest in relief. “Goddamn right I’m pissed,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “If you had to go back into surgery just because you couldn’t reach your phone I would _kill_ you, dude.”

“Don’t tell the nurses.” 

They both began laughing through their quiet sobs, holding onto each other around Grantaire’s wires and bandages in a subdued reunion. Joly finally let out a sniffle and gave him a watery smile. “Everyone’s been waiting to see you, if you’re up for it.”

“God, yes.”

“I’ll text them, then. I don’t think you’ll be getting any hugs for a while,” he said, glancing down at Grantaire’s bandages. “But you’ll get enough of them soon.”

“How long has it been since I got out of surgery?”

“Around fourteen hours. You woke up about six hours ago, but no one was allowed in the ICU.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve all been here since then...”

“Do you even know us?” Joly asked with a beam. “Of _course_ we have. We’ve been taking turns going back to the hotel for sleep, but yes.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from appearing. “Ridiculous.”

“Says you. Almost ripped your stitches less than a day after major surgery.”

“Your bedside manner has turned to shit, man,” Grantaire laughed.

“Only with patients who don’t follow orders, thank you _very_ much,” Joly said, feigning shock. “Do you want me to hand you that phone you were so determined to reach?”

Grantaire settled back into the pillows. “Nah, I was only going to text one of you anyway.” 

Joly studied him for several moments with a tiny smile lingering on his face. He still hadn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand. “Are you sure?” He asked quietly. 

“What do you mean?”

“For everyone. Are you sure you’re ready?”

He tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion. “Of course I am.”

The beeping of the machines around them remained as steady as Joly’s concerned, unwavering gaze. Half a minute passed before Grantaire’s pleading tone interrupted the silence.

 _“Joly._ I’m fine, I’ve been out of surgery for-"

“That’s not what I meant. And you’re not fine,” he sighed, “but we can save that for another time. I’m just worried about you.”

Grantaire gently squeezed his hand and gave him a crooked smile. “You don’t have to worry anymore.” 

...

The unmistakable sound of boots crashing down the hallway made them pause their quiet discussion. Joly shot Grantaire a knowing look and slid off the side of the bed. “I better make sure they don’t crush you.”

Grantaire smirked and craned his neck toward the doorway. “Ah, let them," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "there aren't many injuries left to add to my chart, anyway.”

_“Grantaire."_

"Oh come on, you know it's true."

"You just had open heart surgery. I literally can't believe you-"

“Look, all I’m saying is that-"

Their banter trailed off as the loud steps came to a sudden and abrupt halt directly in front of the door. Eponine stared at him from across the room with a shellshocked expression on her face, and her eyes seemed to widen more than Grantaire had thought possible. She slowly approached the bed, not uttering a single sound. 

Grantaire simply looked back at her, opening and closing his mouth in slight bewilderment. He cleared his throat quietly. “Ep?”

That seemed to rouse her. Eponine took in a deep, gasping breath as her eyebrows knitted together. Sparkling tears began to fall down her face without warning and she covered her mouth with her hand. _“Oh...”_

 _“Eponine,”_ Grantaire said tenderly, just as she rushed to him. She half collapsed at the side of the bed and he cradled her as best he could without moving too much. _“Hi,_ oh god! Where is everyone else?” 

“I... ran here,” she said between sobs. “When Joly texted I ran as fast as I could.”

Joly wiped several tears from his own face, smiling in contentment at the scene. “I can hear them in the hall.”

 _“I missed you so much,”_ Eponine bawled. “My best... friend...” Her plaintive tone twisted Grantaire’s heart like a knife, and it was only pain medicine and the shock of everything else that kept his own tears at bay. Instead he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. 

“I know. I know, Ep.”

The faraway sound of voices grew louder. Eponine sat up, staring back at him with a tearstained face. She cupped the side of his head with one hand and smiled—they didn’t need to say anything, not yet. They never needed words.

Grantaire was suddenly aware of the quietness of the room. The buzzing of the voices from the hallway had stopped, and as he looked up his heart skipped a beat at the sight of every single one of their friends hesitating in the doorway. He let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tears he’d been repressing well up in his eyes _. “Guys...”_

With that their stunned silence went away as they flooded into the room. His friends looked the same as though he’d just left the Musain, but... But there was something different about the group of people that crowded around his bed. They looked weary. Worn at the seams, somehow. But their radiating joy was something he could not miss. It was like a beacon, and he melted at the sensation.

Bahorel was the first to speak. “About time, fucker,” he sniffled. He stood at the very end of the bed and held onto Grantaire’s feet. 

“You... You just...” Combeferre said, too overcome to finish his thought. Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around his frame and positively beamed. 

“What he means is that we love you.”

“And that we missed you,” Musichetta said. 

“And that you’re late,” Gavroche said. Everyone burst out in laughter, and Grantaire blinked a few times at the sight of him. He’d grown nearly as tall as Feuilly in the two and a half years since he last saw him.

 _“Jesus,_ you’re tall.” He roughly wiped a tear away and gazed at them all. “I just... Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to wait until I woke up...” 

Cosette tightened her arms around Marius’ side and shot him a watery smile. “We would have camped out in the waiting room for the next few months, R. Fourteen hours is nothing.”

“We’d have flown to Mars ourselves if that would have fixed this,” Marius said. “If we could have, we would.”

“Oh yeah, I can imagine that,” Jehan snorted. “It would all be peachy until Bossuet flew us to Venus by accident.”

Combeferre look amused. “That’s in the complete opposite direction...”

Jehan grinned. “Exactly.”

Enjolras’s voice rang out above the others. Strong. Steady. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” Grantaire said, his grin stretching a little too much to be believable, though no one said anything. “This pain medicine is fabulous.” He looked around at their slightly unconvinced (and nervous) looks and decided he needed to buy time. _I need to feel normal right now._ “So,” he began in a drawl, “tell me about this news special I’ve heard so little about...”

They burst into conversation, everyone turning back into their old selves for a little bit. It was enough for Grantaire in that moment, so he settled back and ignored everything else in the universe besides his friends’ voices.

...

They talked for hours. The conversation teetered on dangerous topics, every once in a while, but someone would always say something a bit too loudly to change the topic. No one knew how to bring up the hard stuff, and Grantaire wouldn't have wanted to talk about it yet anyway. They found a balance to brush over the awkwardness.

That is, however, until Martinez’s voice boomed from the doorway. Grantaire raised his eyebrows at the sight of his crew-mates’ unsteady entry, in various states of exhaustion. Martinez, Lewis, and Johanssen all balanced on crutches, while Vogel and Beck followed in wheelchairs. “Aw, look who it is...”

“There he is,” Johanssen said, a radiant smile on her face. 

Everyone shifted to make room for the five additional visitors. “This is my other family, you guys,” Grantaire mumbled, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.  

Lewis’s eyes were shining by the time she made it into the room. “Hey, there.”

“This has got to be against the rules,” Joly chuckled, looking around the crowded room. 

“We paid the doctors off,” Vogel said gruffly, winking at Grantaire. 

Lewis set her crutches aside and leaned against the bed. “How are you doing?” 

“Fabulous.”

“Uh huh. That’s bullshit,” Beck said. “Just so you know that we all know.”

“Did you come here just to bully me in front of my friends?” Grantaire asked under his breath, making everyone laugh. “Come on, guys.” Seeing his crew-mates and his friends together, crowded around his bed—all seventeen of his _family_ members—made his breath catch in his throat. He’d dreamed for a moment like this for over two years, and the reality was so much better. “Thanks for coming,” he said quietly, meeting their eyes. "I know you're all probably anxious to get home as soon as possible."

“Ben, just know...” Martinez said earnestly, “we’re here because Lewis forced us. We didn’t want to- _ow!”_ Vogel had promptly rolled his eyes and smacked him lightly on the back of his head, to everyone’s humor. “Okay, I’m teasing. We did miss you already, and wanted to make sure you were feeling okay after they sliced open your chest.”

Grantaire put a hand above the bandage over his heart in mock tribute. “Thanks, Rick.”

Their laughter eventually quieted down to a few titters before Combeferre cleared his throat and put a hand on Beck’s shoulder. “We’re so happy you all are back safe. We wanted to thank you-"

“There’s nothing to thank,” Johanssen said firmly. 

“What she said,” Lewis echoed. She shot Beck a discreet look, one that Grantaire—more than attuned to his crew-mates’ habits—caught instantly.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

His crew-mates shifted uncomfortably under the questioning looks of the rest of his friends. Finally, though, Martinez met his eyes. “We wanted to ask you something.”

“Something that you don’t have to answer,” Johanssen added.

“Because we understand if you don’t want to talk about it...” Lewis said.

Vogel coughed. “Just tell us if you’re not okay with that-"

“-Or if you’re uncomfortable,” Beck finished.

Grantaire surveyed them with a quizzical look on his face. “Did you guys rehearse that, or...?”

That broke the tension, a little, and the five of them visibly relaxed. “We’d be lying if we said we didn’t,” Lewis said with a grin. “No, it’s just... Before you go back to Paris, we...”

Beck visibly struggled with words for a few moments, finally letting out a deep sigh. “We wanted to know what happened, after we left you. That first Sol... It's the missing piece to the puzzle, to us.”

Everyone was deadly silent after that, turning to Grantaire one-by-one to gauge his reaction. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “I...”

“Don’t worry about it, Ben, we shouldn’t have asked,” Martinez mumbled in embarrassment.

He sat up in his bed, scrambling to ease through the tension that had come back at full force. “No, I just didn’t expect that. I don’t mind at all, guys,” he said in a rush. 

“I guess we all can just... come back then, once you're done,” Musichetta said, as several of them turned to leave the room.

“No, wait—" Grantaire said. “Stay. Please.”

Eponine took his hand again. “Are you sure?”

 _“Yes,_ I’m sure,” he said in fond exasperation. “Please don't leave yet.”

Bahorel and Vogel let out identical chuckles at his tone. “Okay,” Vogel started, “whenever you’re ready then.”

“Alright. Uh...”

And maybe his crew-mates saw a brief moment of hesitation on his face, because they all started to backtrack at once.

“But it’s totally fine it-"

“Nevermind, it’s okay."

“Don’t worry about it-"

“You don’t have to tell us-"

He scowled up at them in defiance. “No, I _want_ to tell you. I do. It’s just...” Grantaire’s voice grew soft and he bit his lip. “I wondered if you were ever going to ask me about it. You could have, you know. You could have asked me _whenever_ , because you’re family to me.”

Tears spilled down Beck’s face and he looked down, unable to speak. Johanssen took his hand and glanced back up at Grantaire. “We were scared to.” Lewis, Vogel, and Martinez nodded in agreement.  

“That’s okay, though,” Grantaire said with a soft smile. “Just know you can ask me anything. And that goes for everyone in this room,” he said, looking around at them with a fierce affection burning in his chest. 

“Okay,” Lewis said. She pressed her lips into a smile. “Okay.”

He exhaled in a rush as he tried to come up with the words. “Um... I don’t know where to start, really.”

“Just start from the beginning,” Cosette prompted, her silvery voice reassuring. “The very first thing you remembered.”

“Okay,” he started, drawing in a deep breath. “Right. The beginning, then.”

Grantaire took another deep breath and began to speak, letting his memory take them millions of miles away. He wasn’t in a hospital bed on Earth anymore, but in an EVA suit sprawled on the surface of Mars, covered in red sand. “The last thing I saw was Johanssen reaching out for me in the storm. I woke up to the sound of the oxygen alarm...”

 

* * *

 

**[ SOL 7 ]**

A faraway ringing echoes in Grantaire’s ears, giving him two seconds of blissful unawareness as he begins to rouse. Two single seconds of ignorance before it comes crashing down like a wave, before he realizes everything has changed. 

_One._

He inhales. It’s morning, and he had the strangest dream last night. He needs to tell Martinez and Johanssen—they’ll probably laugh at him as they get their EVA suits on. They are on Mars, and it is Sol 6, and nothing is out of place. 

The briefest sensation of confusion crosses his mind at the thought, but he shakes it away... because it’s Sol 6 and nothing is wrong.

_Two._

Then he exhales, and the wave hits him.

Grantaire’s eyes fly open as he gasps for air. The sunlight reflecting off the sand almost blinds him—it is as red and as bright as fire itself. He _feels_ like he is on fire. Adrenaline sets his nerves alight and he feels as though he is rising from the grave.

He tries to stand up and immediately lets out a guttural scream, falling face first back into the dirt. His hand flies to his abdomen and hits a piece of metal in his side, the movement sending waves of agony throughout his body.

_Nightmares aren’t supposed to be this painful, right?_

In the back of his mind Grantaire registers this thought, knowing full well that this is too real and too _gritty_ to be a dream. But he is running on adrenaline and everything is going way too fast. _It is Sol 6 and he will wake up. Right?_  

His mouth falls open in a silent scream as he glances down at the object sticking out of him—it’s an antenna, caked in his own blood. A satellite lies a few feet away, tethered to him by the cables. The realization of his EVA suit being breached turns his blood to ice, but... But he’s breathing. He still has oxygen. _How did I...?_

Years of training and pure survival instinct shakes him out of the thought before he can even finish it, and he forces himself up. The details can wait, after all. He has more important things to do than be in shock.  

As he blindly reaches for the breach kit strapped to the suit, he glances around the area in bewilderment. The storm has thrown him down a hill—too far from the Hab to see the condition of the MAV. Grantaire grits his teeth in a mixture of frustration and pain as he clips the end of the antenna, freeing him from the satellite. _Holy shit._

With a few shaky breaths, he gingerly stands up and begins to climb the hill. 

...

He doesn’t look up until he is closing in on the Hab itself. The irritation of his injury has grown to an overwhelming pain during the trek back to the site, and he can feel the toll it’s taken on his energy. It's all he can do not to collapse. 

_Get to the Hab. Get to the Hab. Get to the Hab. Get to... Oh._

He freezes. The MAV launch area is empty, though somewhere in the back of his mind he is not surprised. He can feel the events of the previous night bubble up in his mind but he shoves the memories away and keeps walking, the pain in his side anchoring him to the present situation. A ripple of pain jolts him. Grantaire fumbles for the airlock and nearly falls inside as his breaths begin to come out in short pants.

_The Hab is intact. Get inside._

_Jesus._  

_Fuck. Fuck._

Grantaire throws his helmet aside and grinds his teeth together. He braces himself, grabs the end of the antenna, takes a deep breath... and wrenches it out in one sharp motion. 

“AARRGH—"

The pain is beyond white hot. With trembling hands he holds the piece of metal in front of his face, blinking a few times as his vision blurs. The blood is as bright as the dirt outside.

_Do not pass out. Now now. Get supplies._

He obeys his subconscious and grabs a fistful of medical supplies, stumbling to Beck’s station. He collapses into a chair and begins to cut away the EVA suit. The Hab is dead silent, though he doesn’t register it in that moment. The reflection of his ghostlike face catches his attention for a split second, but he pushes it away and adjusts the mirror to his wound. He doesn’t need to see his horrified expression right now.

One critical look at his abdomen is all he needs to know that the injury is much worse than he initially thought.  _This is bad._

Grantaire’s fingers gently feel around the puncture and more blood pools on his stomach from the movement. It’s really deep. He grabs the broken antenna from Beck’s desk and stares at it for a moment. The frown on his face grows more pronounced the longer he looks at the end. It’s jagged... Like a piece of the antenna broke off. 

He curses loudly and it echoes around the main area of the Hab. Sweat rolling down his face, Grantaire quickly injects an antibiotic around the gaping wound. He lets out a ragged gasp and clenches his eyes shut.  _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

_Breathe._

“Oh god,” he says, grabbing the forceps. He hesitates just for a second."I can’t do this,” he exhaustedly informs his subconscious. 

_You have to._

Grantaire decides not to argue. This is very unlike him. He groans and plunges the forceps into his side in one fluid movement.

A tortured scream falls out of his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. He forces himself to keep the instrument inside of his body and _oh god this hurts I cannot breathe. I can’t find it._

He pushes the forceps in even deeper and the shallow breaths that escape him cease altogether. The pain constricts him beyond belief. 

_Fight it._

“Fuck!” he roars. Grantaire can feel the temptation to pass out dance around the edges of his mind, taunting him. Breaths tumble out of his mouth in short pants.

Minutes pass like this. He is well past the point of agony and the pain transforms from white hot to unbearably cold. 

_Breathe._

“I can’t breathe,” he snarls to himself. “Ah fuck— AAH!”

Metal hits metal deep in his abdomen. He immediately tears the forceps out of him, and with them, a tiny piece of shrapnel, scarlet with blood in the light of the Hab. _I got it._ Grantaire might have stayed frozen like that, staring blankly at the metal he has just pulled from his side, if the steady _drip_ of his blood hitting the ground didn’t catch his attention. (This is the first time he notices the quiet, but he has a long way to go.) 

_Come on, move._

“Okay,” he says. Lethargy drips from his voice. With shaking hands he gropes around for the medical stapler, simultaneously fumbling to mop up some of the blood with some gauze. He lets out a quiet moan as he steadies his arm. 

_Just do it, it’ll be over with. One, two, three. Let’s go._

Grantaire nods and lets the gauze fall to the floor. “One... two... thr—"

The pain of the first staple takes his breath away. He bares his teeth in exertion.

“Fucking hell,” he whimpers. The second staple is somehow much worse than the first. 

_One more._

It takes several seconds for his hands to stop trembling enough to do it, but with another agonized groan he closes the wound. The stapler falls to the ground with a _crash_ as Grantaire’s arms go limp. The blood rushing to his ears is deafening. His head falls back on Beck’s table, and he stares up at the ceiling in absolute exhaustion. 

“Fuck,” he gasps quietly. His subconscious doesn’t comment this time, and it is in this moment that he realizes he is completely and utterly alone. 

It is Sol 6, and this is not a dream.

...

Many hours later Grantaire forces himself up from the chair and wraps himself in a blanket. He pads around the Hab, almost in a state of shock. The wind howls outside. He stops in the main area and stares at his bloodied EVA suit bundled up on the ground.  

 _They thought I died,_ he registers numbly. _I should have died._

He blinks away tears. He knows what he needs to do, now. After slowly making his way to the log station he falls into the nearest chair and adjusts the camera. 

“User information,” the computer rang out. 

His eyes catch the timestamp blinking at the bottom of the monitor. It is Sol 7—already several hours past midnight. It will be his first full day alone. The howling of the wind outside the Hab almost breaks his determination right then and there, but the pain from the antenna is stronger. It grounds him. “Grantaire, Benjamin,” he says hoarsely. “New video log entry. Sol 7.” 

He takes a deep breath, looks into the camera, and begins to speak. 

“I’m pretty much fucked...”

 

* * *

 

“...And that’s when I began the video logs. It was about seventy Sols later that I decided to go get Pathfinder, so.” Grantaire’s voice trailed off and he looked around at everyone. Their faces were a wide array of emotion—shock, sadness, pain. Pain, most of all, on Lewis and Beck’s faces. He cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched at his stubble. “I hope that’s uh... what you needed to hear.”    

Lewis brushed a tear away and let out a deep breath. “Thank you for telling us.”

“Of course,” he murmured. 

A nurse entered the room then, stepping around them carefully to reach Grantaire’s bedside. “It’s time for your next round of medication. And I’m afraid that visiting hours are over.” Everyone stretched and avoided each other’s gazes, all trying to shake off the emotion that hung in the air. 

He sat silently and watched them gather their things, the exertion of talking for so long finally settling in his chest as a cold ache. The only sound was the light _beep_ of his heart monitor. His five crew-mates, however, made no move to leave. Not yet. The Amis exited the room with gentle _“see you tomorrow’s”_ and kisses to his forehead, reluctant to intrude on them. Eponine squeezed his hand one last time and then he was alone with his crew. 

Beck, otherwise silent until this point, was the first to speak. He wheeled closer to Grantaire’s bed now that the room was near empty and grasped his arm. “I don’t know how many times I could say this, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Grantaire.”

“Beck, don’t—" he began indignantly.

“Let me speak,” Beck cut him off softly. His face transformed into pure determination. Pain. “I imagined that day for so long. We all did. And we could have had this conversation at any point during the last seven months, but maybe I was too scared that it wasn’t real. That I’d wake up and you’d still be gone.”

Grantaire stared back at him, and then turned to the rest of his crew. Their faces showed the same story of tiredness and melancholy and fear. _I shouldn’t have told them,_ he thought. 

Johanssen seemed to know what he was thinking, though. “We needed to hear that, Grantaire. I’m sorry it took so long to ask.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said roughly. He looked each of them in the eye, and they in turn avoided his gaze. “You know that, right? I can’t sleep at night knowing you guys think it’s your fault. It was a _storm.”_

“It still happened,” Martinez said. Tears welled up in his eyes. “And then we left you.”

Lewis’s voice rang out above Grantaire’s protests. _“I_ left you.” 

He looked helplessly to Vogel, and to Johanssen, and Martinez and Beck, desperate for their reassurances that they weren’t at fault, that Lewis didn't do this to him, _this is no one’s fault—_

But their heads bowed in guilt, and pain, and no one said anything. The _beeps_ from Grantaire’s heart monitor sped up. His own face contorted in pain, but not from his incisions. Not from his injuries. It was right then that he realized just how well his crew had managed to hide their guilt from him—long enough to make it back to Earth, and no further. They didn’t have any more fight in them. _They rescued me and they still feel like this,_ he thought in anguish.

Grantaire turned his face away and felt his heart shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Title is from ["Trouble I'm In"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFnajsxYTME) by Twinbed
> 
> -Usual credit to the author, Andy Weir, and the screenplay writer Drew Goddard for the basis of the opening scene on Mars
> 
> -This is definitely going to have more of a emotional focus rather than the action scenes of Part I, but there will be flashbacks like the one in this chapter


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references of suicide in this chapter.

The first month after Grantaire’s surgery was a whirlwind of interviews and paperwork and pain medication. He grew restless as most of his friends flew back to Paris—not all of them had the luxury of taking that much time off work. Feuilly, Enjolras, Musichetta, and Bahorel, however, stayed with him every day, no matter how loopy or sleepy the meds made him. He was grateful for that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say how much he missed his crew the first week they left. Vogel to Germany, Martinez to New York, Lewis to California, Johanssen and Beck to Connecticut. He’d spent eighteen months without them before, but missing them now was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how much medication he was under. 

All too soon the adrenaline of being back on Earth started to fade (only a _little,_ though) and the hospital felt like a cage of sorts. Grantaire was so desperate to be out that he realized it would be a long time before he could really _enjoy_ being outside. Doctors constantly reminded him of how long his recovery process would be and it made him sullen and irritable. His friends were there to pick up his mood but even they couldn’t give him the freedom he needed.

Finally though, _finally,_ near the end of January the doctors decided that he was well enough to fly back to France, and everything seemed a little brighter. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he was wheeled out of the hospital, or when they boarded the first flight, or even during takeoff. 

Feuilly and Enjolras shot each other nervous glances at his reaction to being in the air again, but Musichetta had already fallen asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder and he was busy whispering to Bahorel, and they all relaxed. (No one could sense the fluttering tension in every one of his muscles, though, or know that he was getting restless, or that he gritted his teeth every few minutes—but he held it together long enough to take his medications, and then he was out for the rest of the flight.)

In fact, everything was going perfectly, and he was so _happy_ to be back in Paris, that he didn’t notice anything was off until they arrived at his apartment building. Enjolras carried Grantaire’s suitcase (with his few belongings from the Hermes) to the fourth floor while Bahorel looped an arm around his frame and helped him upstairs. They stopped right in front of the door, and he raised an eyebrow in confusion at Bahorel and Enjolras’s hesitation. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Well...” Enjolras began, “we didn’t know when to bring this up, but...”

“But?”

“Er... You died, you know?” Bahorel said awkwardly. “In the eyes of the law, you were dead.”

“Yeah, that sucked,” Grantaire joked.

“Your landlord wasn’t having it.”

“Having what?”

Enjolras sighed. “They refused to keep your apartment. They were going to empty it out, before we’d even made plans for your things.”

“And I did my best, but my legal team could only do so much,” Bahorel continued. 

“So what happened?”

Enjolras visibly struggled for words and Bahorel scratched at his jaw. 

“Guys.”

“Someone had to do something,” Bahorel said quickly. 

“We couldn’t just let them get rid of your existence,” Enjolras added hotly. “It wasn’t fair.”

“And even after it was confirmed you were alive everything was already in motion.”

“It was too late to do anything.”

“It was easiest for Enjolras, his lease was almost up anyway.”

Grantaire stared at them, eyes narrowing. “So that means...”

“I took over your lease,” Enjolras finally said. “To make sure your apartment and your belongings were still here.”

“You... Wait, what?”

“He moved into your place, R,” Bahorel said. He was torn between mirth and sheepishness. 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “We all had to do something, and we took a vote.”

“And it will be good that someone’s here since you’re still recovering from surgery...”

It occurred to him that they both fell quiet, waiting for any type of response from him. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded numbly. “Yeah no, I appreciate that. It’ll be fine, I’m just happy to be back.”

Enjolras and Bahorel both beamed at him, clearly relieved that he had taken it so well. “Great,” Enjolras said. “Here, I’ve got the keys somewhere...”

Bahorel said something else but Grantaire was in a mild state of shock and didn’t catch it. Enjolras was living in his house. _Enjolras moved into my apartment,_ he thought several times in a row, trying to make sense of it _._ He shook his head in bewilderment. They were now roommates.

_This is going to be interesting, for sure._

...

It was indeed interesting, even from the first few days. It wasn’t _bad,_ though. Grantaire was confined to the couch because of his still-healing incisions, but with the constant flow of visits from his friends, it was convenient. If he’d had any worries about what Enjolras had done to the place, they faded almost immediately. 

It was clear Enjolras hadn’t changed too much in the apartment. There were subtle changes, like a few items of furniture moved here and there, and several stacks of Enjolras’s books. But his apartment still _looked_ like his. Grantaire still got fleeting feelings of “home” when he woke up every few hours, and knew that maybe one day it would feel normal again.

It wouldn’t take too much to get back in the habit of apartment living. Since Enjolras was using the room Grantaire had previously used as a studio (“Sorry about the paint smell.” “It faded after a few months, no worries.”) that meant his bedroom remained virtually untouched from when he’d left it right before the mission started. 

“We went in there a lot after Henderson first called,” Feuilly informed him one night when several of them were over. “It was a way of mourning for most of us. But then we threw that energy of finding out you were alive into the map at the Musain.”

“What map?”

“They didn’t tell you about that?” Eponine asked. She was curled up at the end of the couch with Grantaire’s bundled up legs in her lap. “Seriously? It’s been over a month since you landed.”

“It was all thanks to Gavroche's science project, really,” Enjolras explained. “Kapoor was giving us your coordinates and...”

Grantaire settled into their conversation with a smile on his face, and he felt genuinely content. His heart had felt full a lot since arriving back, but it wasn’t the same feeling as the peacefulness of being around his friends, in his own home, with no wires plugged into him. _This_ is why he’d fought so hard to get back. 

...

The contentedness, however, was not easily attainable, as he learned over the following weeks. Sometimes it was as easy as he could dream to be around his friends, talking and catching up as though there wasn’t a care in the world. But those moments happened rarely.

What he felt most was suffocation. Suffocation at the constant psychiatrist and doctor’s appointments, at the way his friends treated his recovery. He felt suffocated with every dose of pain medication that made him feel like he was back floating in space. 

He was just beginning to gain his strength back but it still wasn’t enough to do _anything._ He wanted to get up and walk, to go to the kitchen and cook, to be able to stand and shower, without anyone chiding him and making him go back to the couch. It made him feel like a child in timeout, especially with the constant lectures over his health. They were all so preoccupied with his health that they forgot to pay attention to _him,_ and didn’t notice the way he grew quiet and resentful of the way his body was a prison.  

But Grantaire knew how much everyone had been through, and smiled when he saw them arrive at his door, letting them treat him like glass, because he owed that to them. 

...

**[ February 18, 2038 ]**

_The psychiatrist suggested that staying in the habit of log entries might help me, so here goes my “feelings” for the day._

_You would think that after surviving on Mars by myself for so long—and then miraculously making it back to Earth—would grant me immunity. Honestly, I’m not trying to come off as a spoiled brat because my gratefulness goes beyond words. But... I feel like a prisoner. Not just someone who is reunited with the world. Not just a patient in recovery. I feel like I’m on display, all the time._

_My friends, bless them. They put up with so much for so long. I’m so overwhelmed to be back with them but they can’t even look at me the same. They’ve turned into the medical staff I was so happy to get away from. My own personal army._

_Which would be great, don’t get me wrong, if I_ _enjoyed_ _being smothered. I can’t do anything by myself. I’m gaining back mobility from my surgery, and the physical therapy is helping gain my muscle back. The malnutrition is slowly becoming less of a concern. However... I’m not immobile. I’m not_ _dead_ _. And I wish everyone would stop treating me like I am._

_It’s patronizing. It’s also guilty as hell of me to think like this. But all I want is for everything to feel normal._

_..._

He couldn’t take it anymore. An entire month’s worth of hospitals and doctors and strong medication and this _prison_ of an apartment... Grantaire hated himself for resenting it, really. In the two and a half years he was in space he’d have given anything to be back in his bed. But everything was _different_. This wasn’t the same place he had left; it was not his sanctuary anymore. It was a shared space and he was always being worried about. It would be different if his friends were normal again—not constantly asking about his stitches and wounds. Not looking at him like he’d shatter. 

So one cloudy afternoon he quietly put on a hoodie and decided to leave his apartment before anyone could check on him. _Joly is going to kill me,_ he thought. He could just feel the beginning of guilt creep up into his throat but the thought of freedom was _far_ more tantalizing. 

The first thing that hit Grantaire when he got downstairs was the open breeze. It was so damn refreshing, he’d almost forgotten what that felt like. He closed his eyes for a few moments and inhaled, any previous plan of escape gone from his mind. He breathed in, and out, and felt the tension leave his shoulders. 

Grantaire knew he was far from a full recovery and knew his adventure would have to be a quick one. _Where should I go now?_ He glanced up and down the street, exhilarated at the possibilities before him. With a smile, he began to wander without a care in the world. _That_ sensation, one of carelessness, was something he hadn’t been able to afford until now. And it was _so_ worth it. 

...

The thing about Grantaire was that he knew Paris better than anyone. His friends knew that he was an expert at finding little corners tucked into the city, but they didn’t know that he’d held back this talent. They didn’t know just _how_ well he knew Paris. He had always had the ability to lose himself in small alleyways and shops, as though he’d disappeared into the streets themselves. Today was one of those days. 

He couldn’t really explore, not like his heart was bursting to do so. The worried voice inside his head reminded him of his strength—or lack of it—and he knew he had to take it easy. This is how he found himself in a tiny bookstore several streets away, hidden between a bar that he used to frequent and a flower shop. To his knowledge none of his friends knew this specific area, and he smiled at the thought. 

It had taken him almost an hour to get to the shop with his limited mobility and stamina. But once he entered the doorway and the tiny bell _ringing_ at his arrival, it had taken his breath away, and not in the way he’d grown used to. The sight of bookshelves full from floor to ceiling, the _smell_ of the pages, the muffled noises of the street now at the very back of his mind—it was everything he needed. It was a sanctuary. It was a breath of fresh air. 

Best of all, it was almost empty. The few people that were in the shop didn’t even look up at him. _Thank god,_ he thought, tugging the hood from his head without fear of being recognized. _Thank god._

Grantaire drifted over to a familiar section and beamed at the spines of the botany textbooks, happily losing himself in the pages.

...

The phone began buzzing in his pocket after less than an hour in the bookstore. He tactfully ignored it, and turned his attention back to the book on his lap. 

_“Vitamin C is abundant in many vegetables, such as kale, broccoli, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, cabbage, and onions, especially when they are uncooked.”_

A brief, bitter smirk flitted across his face and he began flipping for the right chapter. 

 _“A mean growing temperature between 15_ ° _C and 21_ ° _C and a well-distributed rainfall over a period of three and a half to four months are essential. Irrigation or rainfall at or just before...“_

His cell phone began vibrating again and he frowned, not tearing his eyes away from the book.

_“Potatoes are relatively sensitive to frost... The crop can be grown on a wide variety of soils, but a friable, porous, well-drained soil is essential for good growth as it offers... Potatoes may be planted entirely by hand or by using a potato planter... Harvested potatoes, after washing out the soil residues, are stored in a cool environment at about 4°C...”_

The _buzz_ of Grantaire’s phone began to set him on edge. It was incessant, like the ticking of a clock. The sound of it seemed to resonate in his bones and the words on the pages felt like they were burning holes in his skull. Everything was too loud, far too bright, and tension boiled in his blood.

_If the phone doesn’t stop I’m going to smash it. I’m about to lose it._

It didn’t stop, and Grantaire snapped.

He slammed the book with a _thud_ and tore his phone from his pocket. “What?” He demanded in a half snarl, teeth bared in a sudden and an uncontrollable fury. 

 _“Grantaire. Jesus, where are you? Are you okay?”_ Bahorel’s worried voice did nothing to quell his irritation.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly, not trusting his own emotions. 

_“Okay, where are yo-"_

“I said I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a few moments, clearly sensing that Grantaire was not himself. Out of all of their friends, Bahorel could always tell when to back off (a result of their years of sparring, maybe), and Grantaire had been grateful for that since they were younger. Luckily that had not changed in the time he was in space. 

 _“Look, we just want to make sure everything is okay,”_ Bahorel said in a soothing voice. _“Our minds jump to the worst, you know. Hard to break that habit.”_

Grantaire immediately felt the anger start to drain from his body, and began to breathe in slowly. A flash of guilt and fear ran through his mind at his reaction. _Oh man._

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

 _“There is nothing to apologize for,”_ Bahorel replied firmly. Calmly. _“I know we can get overbearing sometimes, but you’re not in the best shape, bro.”_

The exhaustion seemed to hit him at that moment and Grantaire felt the book slip from his fingers. “I know.”

_“Just let me know if you need something, okay? Call one of us. Please.”_

“I will,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

_“Always. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”_

Grantaire gently put his phone down and stared at the bookshelf in front of him, the colors blurring in his depleted gaze. The inexplicable need to lash out out had gone as quickly as it had come, and he felt empty. _What happened to me?_

...

It felt like mere minutes since he’d hung up with Bahorel but in his tired state he registered the bookstore closing around him. It was dark out and he hadn’t even noticed. Before the owner could approach him, and god-forbid _recognize_ him, he tugged his hoodie back over his head and managed to pull himself off the ground.

The semi-pleasant breeze from earlier had disappeared, leaving a biting winter wind in its absence. Grantaire immediately began to shiver, frowning at his body’s reaction to the weather. He gulped at the thought of how far he’d walked. _I feel like I’m about to pass out... There’s no way I can walk home right now. Fuck._

Sighing in frustration (at himself more than anything) he took out his phone, unsure of who to call. Few of them owned cars and he hated to be a burden to them yet again. Scrolling through his contacts list, he weighed the options. 

Surely not Bahorel. _I feel too ashamed at the way I spoke to him earlier. He’s too good to me._

Eponine? _No, she’ll probably be angry at my behavior. Maybe I deserve it, though._

Possibly Jehan, though Grantaire knew they were working, and knew they would leave work just for him. _I’m not going to be that person._

Joly... _But only if I want to be dragged to the hospital to have my vitals checked._

Ah, Musichetta. Wait- she’d just give him to Joly. _Nope_. 

That left Combeferre, and he let out a little sigh at the thought. Grantaire would feel bad about bothering him, but knew Ferre would probably give him the discretion he needed. He probably wouldn’t be angry, _or_ drag him to the hospital. What did he have to lose, besides a look of disappointment and a brief lecture? 

 _Could be worse._ With a brief shake of his head he pressed  _call_  and hoped for the best.

...

Somehow it got even colder in the time he waited for Combeferre. In that instant he regretted going somewhere so out of the way, and a gust of freezing wind hit him at the thought. _Fuck._

Grantaire could see tiny snowflakes drifting in the light of the streetlamp. At this point he’d almost have gladly taken a lecture from Joly, and maybe even a trip to the clinic, just to be out of the cold. He closed his eyes, letting the chill take him back to one Sol on Mars. The memory of taking the Rover out at night, without heat, made a rueful chuckle bubble up in his chest. It was only the muted sounds of the neighborhood around him that differentiated his current reality. 

Fortunately he didn’t have to lose himself to this flashback for too long as the gentle rumble of a car engine broke his train of thought. He opened his eyes to see Combeferre practically throwing himself from the driver’s seat, quickly approaching him with a worried look. He carefully wrapped his arms around his shoulders and Grantaire melted at the warmth. “R, do you _know_ how cold it is right now?” 

“I’m aware,” he replied dryly, suddenly aware that his entire frame was trembling. “Thanks for picking me up...”

Combeferre gave him a long look. “We’re always here for you,” he said earnestly. They began making their way to the car. “I’m glad Enjolras was with me, there’s no way I would have been able to find this place.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, he said he’d move to the backseat so you could sit next to the heater. We were working on our articles when you called, actually, and...”

Combeferre continued speaking but he wasn’t really listening anymore. _Uh oh,_ Grantaire thought, abashed at his situation. He could see Enjolras’s piercing gaze from the window. 

 _Clearly_ he wouldn’t be getting away unnoticed. 

...

The ride back was uneventful, for the most part. He was too tired to listen to their small talk and instead focused on the snow swirling around them as they drove back. Once they pulled over, Combeferre and Enjolras carefully helped Grantaire up to the apartment. He immediately collapsed onto the couch, panting slightly. Combeferre gently placed a blanket over him as Enjolras disappeared into the kitchen. 

“You sure you’re okay, R?” 

Grantaire gave him a crooked grin. “An icicle, but I’ll live. Thanks again for coming to get me, Ferre.”

“Of course. Get some rest,” Combeferre said with a brief hug. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Grantaire leaned his head back against the couch cushions as his exhausted body started to warm. The apartment was eerily quiet, and he wondered if he was alone. 

“Enjolras?”

No answer. With a slight groan he pushed himself off the couch and padded to the kitchen, still wrapped in the blanket. His mind was tired, too tired to realize Enjolras was standing in the dark of the kitchen by himself, his back to the doorway. “Jesus,” Grantaire said, startled. “I thought you left with Ferre.”

“No,” he replied quietly, not looking up from the counter.

Grantaire flipped on the light and began to make a cup of tea. Neither of them said anything for several minutes, but just as he was walking out of the kitchen, Enjolras finally spoke.

“What was going through your head?” Enjolras demanded without looking up. His voice was a mixture of quiet anger and something else he couldn't put his finger on. 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire sighed, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. “I couldn’t stand this place. Needed to get out.”

“Why didn’t you _call_ someone?”

“I just wanted to be alone, honestly.”

“That’s irresponsible, even for _you,_ Grantaire.”

He frowned at the the scathing tone. “Christ, Enjolras, I said I’m sorry for worrying everyone—"

“Use your _brain_ next time you disappear, okay?”

Grantaire felt heat flood his face. _“Look,_ I don’t have to answer to you. Don’t act like I just committed a felony or something.”

“I’ll be as angry as I damn well please,” Enjolras retorted. He still hadn’t turned around. “You’re malnourished and recovering from surgery, and you just go and decide to _leave_ on a whim because you were bored—"

“Because I was _bored?_ That’s what you guys think this is?” Grantaire exclaimed, feeling a newfound rush of anger biting at his nerves. “I left because this place was driving me insane. Because I’ve been holed up here like some prisoner. I needed to _breathe,_ Enjolras, I've barely gotten to be a human since I got back to Earth.”

The line of Enjolras’s shoulders grew stiff and his voice was full of resentment. “Right, and you couldn’t have been the least bit responsible about it. There was no way you could have, _I don’t know,_ left a goddamned _note_ or something—"

_“Fuck off.”_

Enjolras whirled around, his eyes alight with controlled fury. “We went through absolute hell waiting for you to come back, the _least_ you could do is call someone. We were scared to death.” It was clear he had held back this conversation the entire way back home. 

He was too provoked to focus on the fact that it had been Enjolras who was behaving in such a shaken manner, _not_ Bahorel and Combeferre, both of whom hadn't seemed upset in the slightest.

“I’m not just a patient,” Grantaire snarled back. “You seem to forget the possibility that I need to _act_ like a human sometimes. Life isn’t round after round of medication that makes me forget what year it is. This isn’t living.”

“It is for you, because we didn’t go through this much to let you wander off and die for no reason. Stop acting like a child.”

Grantaire took a step back, stunned. It felt like a slap in the face, and Enjolras seemed to realize the harshness of his words the moment Grantaire’s eyes widened. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Enjolras said slowly. “I meant that... I just...”

“You think I’m suicidal, is that it?” Grantaire asked in a deadly quiet voice. The tension in the room was palpable. “You really think that after all of this, I wanted to just go out and die somewhere on the streets of Paris?”

Enjolras helplessly shook his head, but his eyes couldn’t hide the truth. “No, _no_ , I swear I didn’t mean to say-"

“Do all of you think that? That after fighting for my life for so long, I’d be so careless?” Tears had sprung up in his eyes. Grantaire felt _betrayed_ at this realization. That’s why his friends looked at him like that, then. They thought he didn’t want to live, and as a result he was essentially put on house arrest. After so much, they didn’t even trust him with himself. _Jesus._

“We’re just worried about you,” Enjolras said softly, “we worry about you _all_ of the time. What do you think we would expect when you disappear like that?”

“I don’t know, Enjolras, anything _but_ this?” Grantaire snarled. “If you all treated me more like a person and less like a _thing_ maybe you would understand. I thought you guys would be on my side.”

“We _are_ on your side,” he said desperately. “We are always on your side. But you have to understand, we were separated from you for _so_ long and then we have so many doctors telling us what to expect and how to handle it and...”

Grantaire’s mouth had fallen open, just a little. They were acting like this because of a faceless, nameless doctor, and it took the air out of his lungs. “So this is because of some bullshit psychiatrist telling you how I would probably feel? As though a year and a half on Mars is easily explained by a chapter in a textbook? Because you’d all rather believe that than just ask me. I see how it is,” he said roughly. “Well you can tell all of the others to stop worrying I’m going to off myself.”

_“Grantaire-"_

“I cannot believe you guys. From the first night I saw you all in that hospital room, I told you and my crew-mates I was an open book. That every one of you have the right to talk to me. How many times have I said you can ask me anything?”

Enjolras stared back at him wordlessly.

_“How many times?”_

They stared at each other for a solid minute before Grantaire shook his head in disbelief. “Clearly you must have thought I was a lunatic from day one.”

“Grantaire. Please.”

He looked away from Enjolras and felt the hurt settle in his stomach like ice. “Look, I don’t have anything else to say. Everyone can go to hell, I don’t want to be babied anymore.” He slammed the mug of lukewarm tea onto the table and strode to his bedroom without another word. 

...

Grantaire couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling for hours but all he could see was the guilty look on Enjolras’s face. It wasn’t the anger that kept him awake, as he’d expected, but a sense of uneasiness. The fact that every one of his friends believed the ramblings of some psychiatrist absolutely stunned him. His thoughts wandered, and he grew agitated at the notion that the doctor could be _right._

_Am I?_

He thought back as far as Sol 1, going over every action in his mind like a newsreel. Sure, he’d had his really difficult moments on Mars, but... But he continued to fight. He fought _so hard_ to get back here. He clearly didn’t want to die, right? Everything he'd done in order to survive should dispel that idea automatically. 

Except... Somewhere deep down he knew there might be a justification in Enjolras’s words. He wouldn’t have been so emotional if he didn’t genuinely believe them, after all. And Grantaire trusted him; he had always trusted him. He wasn’t going to just go _die_ somewhere. That was ridiculous, even Enjolras had to know that. He had no right to be that angry with Grantaire for wanting to escape the confines of his apartment.

So why was it so easy for his friends to jump to the conclusion? Could they see something on his face that he didn’t know about? Could they hear an emptiness in his voice that he could detect? Was he just a shell of the person they once knew? Tears sprung to his eyes and he felt a shuddering breath rip through his chest. _Am I going crazy?_ He thought.

Panic suddenly seized his mind like a vice, and he was absolutely terrified at the thought that he was losing his mind. That he’d lost himself on Mars and might not get himself back. 

Without thinking about it he jumped out of bed and half ran to Enjolras’s room. He was just about to burst through the door when he caught himself and took a step back. “Enjolras,” he said, hopefully loud enough to wake him. “Enjol-"

And then he was standing in the doorway, his eyes tinged with red from crying. He hadn’t been asleep, either. “Are you...?” Grantaire must have had a pained expression on his face because Enjolras’s eyes widened slightly. “Grantaire?”

He could feel his lungs burning, knowing full well he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. “Do I sound the same?” He gasped. 

Enjolras’s eyebrows knitted up in a mixture of confusion and worry. “What?”

“Do I... Does my voice... Am I...” Grantaire’s chest was heaving and he fought for air. Enjolras wordlessly took his shoulders and steered him into the bedroom, gently sitting him on the edge of the bed. 

“Breathe.”

His mind was millions of miles away. The memory he'd latched onto was crystal clear, so vivid that he couldn’t tell where he was save for Enjolras’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. Grantaire replayed it in his mind seven times before he could focus enough to speak.

“My voice. Is it the same?”

Enjolras was quiet for only a second. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, you sound the same.” 

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. The terror slowly eased out of him at the confirmation. Maybe he wasn’t losing his mind, then. “Okay. Okay good.” 

Enjolras watched him carefully for several moments trying to figure out what to say. Finally he realized there was nothing _to_ say, and he took Grantaire’s hand. They sat in silence for a long time as Grantaire’s breathing evened out.

“Sorry,” he said roughly.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I just… Sometimes that hits me. I’ve been worrying about it for a while.”

Enjolras frowned in concern. “About how you sound?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “I didn't realize how much it mattered, and it’s... hard to describe.” His voice trailed off for a few moments and he shook his head in slight frustration. “I never knew how I sounded. I didn’t have any other voices to listen to, and the thought of sounding like someone else terrified me. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” 

“It’s not ridiculous in the slightest.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I was on Mars for… For—"

“Five hundred and fifty-eight days,” Enjolras cut in. 

Grantaire stared at him. “Seemed a lot longer than that, now.”

“Yeah, it does.”

He felt his shoulders relax and every drop of anger dissipated from his body. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Don’t apologize, R. We should be the ones apologizing.”

Grantaire dropped his gaze and struggled for the right words. “I know... I know you’re all worried. But I’m not sui- I'm not that _careless_ ,” he said, looking back up at Enjolras. “I’ve been fighting for so long. That’s why that hurt, to know you guys didn’t think I was fighting anymore. That I would give up that easily.”

“We know that, trust me. I think...” Enjolras started quietly, “I think we worry that you’ve been putting up too much of a fight. And one day you might not have anything left in you.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and nodded in agreement, not trusting himself not to cry. 

...

They ended up side by side on the living room couch just as the sun began to rise. In the past, Enjolras and Grantaire wouldn’t have reached this point this easily. They would have argued and fought and been sullen for days. It was their trademark, their infamous dynamic. But they were older now, with more scars between them, and the thought of a fight was more daunting. Comfortable silences seemed to fit them better than they used to. 

Grantaire sipped at the coffee he had just made and took a deep breath. “You can ask me anything, Enjolras. I meant that in Houston and I mean that now.”

Enjolras hesitated for a minute, unsure of where it would lead their tempers. Maybe it was for the better, though. “How was it all? Not how you’d answer to NASA, not as an astronaut. I mean, what do you _really_ think of those five hundred days?” He looked up to gauge his reaction. 

Now that the two of them were alone, drained of anger, Enjolras thought that was the safest question. _Awful,_ he expected Grantaire to say. Something along the lines of _that forsaken wasteland_ , or _nightmare_. Anything other than how the astronaut reacted to that question. 

Instead of frowning, the edges of Grantaire’s mouth quirked up in a reluctant grin. “It was beautiful,” he said simply. “It really was.” Grantaire noticed Enjolras’s surprise, the shock, at the casualness of his words. “Not that I’d want to go back, of course. It’s just… Even with everything I had to do, Mars was the single most beautiful thing I could ever imagine. It was stunning, I can’t even describe it in adequate words...” He closed his eyes. “The way the night sky looked without anything obstructing it, the way the surface looks like fire in the distance, how the first sprout of green looked against the brown. When I close my eyes I still see everything, but the beautiful things were part of that. If I could just paint what I saw, in those quiet moments where I wasn’t in complete danger…” 

Grantaire paused and looked back at Enjolras’s awestruck face with a rueful smile. “It was terrible. But incredible, too.” 

They both sat quietly for a few moments as the emotion hung in the air.

“And those psychiatrists you all talk to would go _wild_ if they knew I said any of that, so don’t tell anyone,” he said with a snicker, as Enjolras chimed in with light laughter. 

“So paint them,” Enjolras said firmly, now that the tension had dissolved again. “Paint what you just told me.”

He let out a snort. “Do you know how long that would take?”

Enjolras smiled gently. “Good thing you have all the time in the world, then.”

…

And so Grantaire painted. Sometimes it was the only way he could explain something, even to himself, when words failed him— the cool colors of the Hab, the overpowering reds and oranges he woke up to on that first Sol, the scarlet of the blood pooling on his abdomen from the antenna. Other small things, too, like the darkness of space from the Hermes window, and inferno of colors from the MAV launch. 

They weren’t all scary memories, and he meant what he’d said about the beauty of it all.  

Sometimes, though, Grantaire painted because a twisted part of him didn’t want to forget; not one _single_ second, even the memories that would haunt him to his grave. His nightmares wouldn’t let him forget, of course, but it made him worry a little less about not being the same person. That if he could force himself to paint this, to work through what he couldn't say aloud, he just  _might_ be the same guy who had left all those years ago.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The idea of Enjolras taking over his apartment has literally been stuck with me from day one ok that means the few scenes of him in "his" apartment has really been Grantaire's ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> -The tension of his recovery is huge bc it shows how everyone is a little right. Also it makes for great argument material
> 
> -Just because this Grantaire is all science-y doesn't mean he's not himself, which is why I kept the artist trait. I think that would be super important in his recovery but also interesting to look at his journey from artist to astronaut, you know? 
> 
> -Botany stuff comes from [this book](https://books.google.com/books?id=_wS-DAAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=Economic+Botany:+A+Comprehensive+Study&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjrjeu1ydDSAhXC24MKHaojCuMQ6AEIHDAA#v=onepage&q=Economic%20Botany%3A%20A%20Comprehensive%20Study&f=false)
> 
> -I keep doing flashbacks and now that this is technically post-canon, I keep having to reference my own timeline (compiled from the book and movie). For reference in case of confusion: Ares III launched in July 2035, the storm on Sol 6 was November 2035, the Hermes resupply was July 2036, the rescue was in May of 2037, and the arrival to Earth was December 2037


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire’s muffled, violent coughs could be heard from two rooms away, and each one sent a pang of distress through Enjolras's heart. They were the type of coughs Joly warned them about—the kind that made Grantaire clutch his chest in agony, made his eyes water from lack of air. It had been a few easy, quiet days after his getaway attempt... and then the coughing had started. _It’s nothing,_ R had told them with that quick, trademark grin. But then they continued, and five days later Grantaire was on the verge of pneumonia. He’d gotten _so_ far, only to be plagued again by his weakened immune system and late winter weather.  

It made Enjolras hit the back of his head against the wall in frustration. It was two in the morning and he kept vigil in the hallway, _just_ in case it got worse. _If I had been home that day,_ he thought angrily _,_ _Grantaire wouldn’t have been out on the day of the worst snowfall we’ve gotten in years. He wouldn’t be sick._

 _It’s not like he_ knew _it would snow,_ the voice at the back of his mind reminded him gently. 

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

As the sounds of Grantaire’s coughs eased into slow, softer breaths, Enjolras closed his eyes and let his memories envelop him.  

...

**[ EIGHT YEARS EARLIER ]**

He wasn’t paying any attention to Grantaire, the first time they met. It wasn’t out of spite—it was because Enjolras had only heard him mentioned in passing; at that point he was just a faceless, mutual friend. _(_ _No one said he was going to be there,_ he later rationalized to himself.) It was just the last thing on his mind. He'd been there for just a few minutes and was already getting fed up with the gaudiness of the place, of the grating voices, and the never ending movement of bodies. _I hate clubs,_ he thought in exasperation for what felt like the thousandth time in two minutes, craning his neck to see which tiny table Courfeyrac had claimed. 

 _Five more minutes and I’m leaving,_ he texted Feuilly, downing a second shot of gin. A person standing near the bar called out to him, and he glanced up from his phone. 

“Sorry?” Enjolras shouted back at the man across from him, struggling to hear what he’d just said over the thundering of the bass. The club was _wild,_ and his lack of enthusiasm must have been showing, judging by the other man’s reaction _._ The brunette’s smile grew a little wider and he shuffled closer to Enjolras. 

“I said, you look lost! Are you—"

He frowned at that, immediately recoiling at the prospect of being hit on. Who _was_ this guy, anyway? “I’m not, thank you,” he huffed, “I’m just looking for my friends!”

The stranger raised his hands in mock surrender, unable to suppress a smug expression. “Okay fine, _Enjolras,_ I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

He froze. How did the man know...?

“There you are,” Bahorel suddenly boomed from somewhere close by. “Took you long enough!” Enjolras relaxed at the voice—he’d been distracted by this other random guy long enough to stop glancing around for his friends. 

“I see you and R have met,” Bahorel continued happily, gesturing them to the other side of the club. “They sent us over when we spotted you. Come on, everyone’s over there!” 

If Enjolras had been taking another drink, he probably would have spit it out. _This_ was Eponine and Bossuet’s friend? The one they couldn’t stop talking about? The _botany_ student?

In all honesty, he had been expecting to meet someone that looked more like... well, Combeferre, really. 

This guy, though? He was... he was... _Like a shot of rum,_ Enjolras finally decided. _A shot of rum and the sound of a violin and a bark of laughter, all at once._ His plaid shirt was flecked with paint and looked ratty enough to be a paint rag itself. His curly, shaggy hair looked purple under the club lights, with shadows under his eyes that matched. There were a few specks of metallic paint on his cheekbone, ones that caught the strobe lights and lit up like diamonds. He had a crooked smile and stubble that _definitely_ should not look _that_ good on anyone, ever. It made his gaze flicker at R’s jawline for the _tiniest_ second, and then to his neck. Enjolras gulped. 

“I get that a lot,” the man said. 

“Sorry?” Enjolras repeated, feeling his face grow hot from the alcohol and mild mortification. _Goddamn gin,_ he thought in annoyance. 

“You know, the whole double take thing,” R chuckled. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and appraised Enjolras, clearly amused. “The questioning of my obviously dubious life choices, or rather, trying to determine if I’m a compulsive liar. I _am_ a botanist, you know.”

“I didn’t, uh, I just—"

The man cut off Enjolras’s sputtering with a casual wave of his hand. “Just teasing. I’m Grantaire, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. 

Enjolras took it quickly, grateful that this _Grantaire_ guy had rescued him from whatever apologetic ramble that had been ready to fall out of his mouth. “I’m Enjolras.”

Grantaire’s eyes flashed with mischief. “So they tell me.”

At some point Bahorel had realized they hadn’t been following him, and he reappeared with a _sigh,_ grabbing their shoulders to steer them across the club. Grantaire shot Enjolras a quick, wild grin, muffling his laughter behind the bottle in his hand. 

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile with this stranger. He’d come across as pretty haughty, without good reason... yet Grantaire brushed it off immediately, and still smiled at him like they were co-conspirators, like they already had an inside joke or a repertoire. It sent a flutter of excitement through him to feel like they knew each other. 

Their friends let out a wild cheer when they arrived at the table. Whatever earlier awkwardness on Enjolras’s part had been forgotten (or ignored) dutifully by Grantaire, and he made no mention of their encounter to anyone. 

Joly appeared with another round of drinks, and somehow the club seemed much brighter and _far_ more enjoyable than he’d originally thought. And then it clicked, for Enjolras. Their group was _whole_. It was the harmony of their laughter, the ease in their happiness, as though they’d known each other for decades. He realized in that moment that it was meant to be, that somehow they'd been missing a crucial piece to their group dynamic that they didn't even know they lacked... Grantaire fit that space perfectly. 

And that’s how it started. 

...

**[ PRESENT ]**

Joly finally put his foot down and forced Grantaire to go with him to the hospital when the coughing didn’t subside. _Better safe than sorry,_ he’d said through gritted teeth, leading a grumpy, wheezing astronaut out the door. 

Now, Enjolras and Combeferre sat on the balcony as the sun set over Paris. The absence of Grantaire’s coughing set him on edge, the apartment was just too _quiet_. It brought back memories of a longer absence, and he knew Combeferre felt it too. One minute he was sipping a beer, enjoying the serene evening with his friend, and then his thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour. 

A question that had been on the edge of Enjolras’s mind suddenly tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His voice was rushed, almost desperate. “Combeferre, what was the turning point for you? That exact moment when you knew, you just _knew,_ that Courfeyrac was it.”

Combeferre pursed his lips for a moment and looked out at the skyline. Finally, a small smile appeared on his face, and when he looked back at Enjolras his eyes were bright in the way they always looked when he talked about Courfeyrac. “It was our trip to the coast, right at the very end. We were all packing our things to leave and Courf wouldn’t shut up about the sand in his hair, or his sunburn. And he looked up at one point and just _lost_ it at the exasperated expression on my face,” he chuckled, “and it was right then, with that twinkle in his eyes and sun-kissed cheeks, that I knew.” 

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at the happiness on his friend’s face. It was _almost_ enough to shake away the uneasiness from his shoulders.

They basked in the glow of the setting sun for a few minutes before Combeferre gently spoke again. “What was your moment?” 

He looked down at the beer in his hands, unable to help the _tug_ of emotion in his chest. “Until recently, I would have said it was the night before he left for the launch. But... now that I think about it, it was that first night, at the club. Maybe.” Enjolras closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him, as though he could hear the music blasting right then, feel the same energy of the moment. His mouth curved up in a reluctant smile. “I don’t remember how many of us were dancing, or even what song was playing, but I looked up at him out of nowhere and it was like we were all in slow motion. He wasn’t even close to me but _god_ , Combeferre, I can still see his smile as though it was yesterday, like he was standing right in front of me. Every detail of him, from the crinkle of his eyes to the unadulterated joy that he radiated...”

Enjolras hesitated for just a moment, toying with the bottle in his hands so he wouldn’t have to see the bittersweet expression on Combeferre’s face. The memory was like a slap in the face, the sharpest contrast from the ghost that Grantaire so often resembled now. “We took that for granted, you know. That energy.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre echoed softly, looking back out at the city. “We did.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I know this chapter is short but it’s all part of my master plan
> 
> -Due to references in the upcoming chapters, I’ve modified a few dates in both works to fit the timeline a little better!!
> 
> -I wanted to say thank you so so so much for your input. Every comment/kudos makes me so happy and appreciative :’) Thanks for putting up with me, I hope this will be worth it


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references of suicide in this chapter.

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and gasped for air, lungs burning in his chest. His mind was a racing mess of incoherent thoughts and colors. As his breaths tumbled out in short pants, he struggled to latch onto a fragment of reality—the white noise of his ceiling fan, the sounds of the traffic below, the even, slow breathing of Eponine or Courf asleep next to him... Except, tonight he was alone. He couldn’t find anything, he couldn’t _hear_ anything, and the realization sent a chill through him. _That_ sensation, of a void, was one he was far too familiar with. His eyes flew open, and—

He was back on Mars.

 _Oh god,_ he thought, whimpering in dread. _Fuck, oh my god..._

There, right in front of Grantaire's face, was the roof of the rover, down to the last perfect detail. The bleak white ceiling, the bold labels of the hatch, the soft, reflecting glow of his own EVA helmet. The absence of sound, worst of all. It took his breath away even though he already felt like he _couldn’t_ breathe. It was so unlike his other dreams, so _mundane,_ that his blood ran cold. How could this be a dream? Did the rescue even  _happen?_

The tension finally broke, and his own fear hit him like a tsunami.

 _“AH-"_ he shouted hoarsely, scrambling up and throwing his hand out in reflex, desperate to rid himself of his surroundings. It was only when Grantaire’s hand went _through_ the rover that he froze. _Wait,_ he thought. _What?_

Slowly the sounds of his apartment filtered into his brain, and he stopped fighting—his arm halfway through his latest canvas that was propped up next to his bed. _Holy shit._

After a few moments he winced and pulled his hand from the now destroyed painting, arm covered in the oil paints he’d only applied the previous night. _I must have fallen asleep,_ he thought with a frown, ignoring the way his pulse was still racing. 

He closed his eyes and took in the comforting smell of his own apartment. Tried to take deep, even breaths, like Joly would tell him to do. _Fuck. Fuck._

With a sigh he leaned back against the bed and stared at the opposite wall. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. Several minutes passed in silence before his shoulders began to relax, relieved that Enjolras hadn’t heard anything. Grantaire wasn’t _oblivious,_ after all. How many nights had he heard Enjolras pad down the hall between their rooms, pausing outside his doorway, waiting for... for what? For Grantaire to stop breathing? For him to call out for help? For him to flee again?

His nostrils flared in embarrassment and irritation, a lingering effect of the bad dream. It wasn’t like he couldn’t _say_ anything, of course, because for all Enjolras knew it was just a symptom of his sleep. Just restlessness, maybe. Grantaire shuddered to imagine what Joly or Enjolras would do if they really knew how many times he woke up petrified from the vivid nightmares that haunted him, night after night, feeling like he was unable to breathe.

Instead of crawling back into bed, he stared up at the ceiling fan, hypnotized by the repetition of the blades. The paint on his arm began to dry, though he made no move to clean himself up. Grantaire’s mind settled into a sea of nothing and he drifted in it until the sun came up. 

...

“Grantaire? Are you okay?”

The sound of his therapist’s voice startled him from his empty thoughts. “Yes, I’m sorry. Just uh...” He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Just pretty tired today.” 

She put down the pen and fixed her gaze on him, frowning in concern. “Still not sleeping well, I take it?”

“Not really,” Grantaire admitted. His eyes flitted to the clock on the wall, each _tick_ making him feel like his head would explode.

“Does your pain medication need to be adjusted?”

He shook his head at the suggestion, mouth tightening in slight frustration. The ticking of the clock only seemed to grow louder, more abrasive. “No, it doesn’t. I don’t need to take _any_ more meds, I’m so sick of them.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Fine. No more pain medications, no more sleeping pills.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew back up to her. “Really?” He breathed in eagerness, forgetting about the clock altogether.

The therapist smiled. “But on one condition... You stop bullshitting me.”

He disguised his snort as a cough. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” she said bluntly, still smiling. “I listen to you, stop giving you prescriptions, and you have to stop thinking of me as just another NASA psychologist. I know they keep forcing doctors on you, and that you’re sick of it and only here because they’re making you, but it shows. We’re not getting anywhere.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing at his hands. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said evenly. “It’s not fair to you, none of this situation has been. But you can still be angry with NASA while allowing me to be here for you, without coddling you. Understand?”

Grantaire locked gazes with her and slowly nodded. The weight on his shoulders seemed less severe, somehow less daunting as before. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” she said, clearly pleased. “Now, I suggest you get some rest. Feel free to use my couch, I’m going to the lobby for some coffee. See you next Thursday.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to reply, unsure of what to even say, but her retreating figure was gone before he could even come up with anything. He shook his head in amusement and let the sounds of the rain outside lull him into an effortless sleep. 

...

“Hey, R, I think the phone is ringing,” Feuilly called from the kitchen.

“Mine? Just answer it,” he said without looking away from the television. “I can't lose to Gav again.”  

“You can _try,_ old man,” Gavroche snickered. "You'll never beat me at Rainbow Road." They’d been playing Mario Kart for nearly three hours, and Feuilly’s lively commentary from the tattered armchair was almost as entertaining as the game itself. It was one of the few times being stuck in the apartment was _fun._ Only a twinge in his chest remained of his recent illness, though Combeferre, Joly, and Enjolras refused to let him outside until the weather was warmer. (He had surrendered to the three of them without a fight.)

Feuilly padded back into the living room with his hand over the end of the phone. “You might want to take this, bro.”

“Yeah, just give me a few...” 

“Grantaire.” Feuilly’s curt voice made him glance up. He had a slight, worried frown on his face. “You need to take this.” 

Somehow he knew who was on the other end of the line without having to ask—Feuilly’s expression said it all. Grantaire nodded briskly. “Okay,” he said in a quiet voice, clearing his throat. “Okay Gav, Feuilly is going to take over for me for just a few minutes.”

The sandy-haired boy made a noncommittal noise in response, not even glancing up as Feuilly passed him the phone and took Grantaire’s place.

He waited until the bedroom door closed behind him before answering. “Hello?”

Just as he had expected, the grainy voice of Teddy Sanders filtered out of the phone. “Benjamin, it’s nice to hear your voice! How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” he replied in an unconvincing chirp. He knew everyone at NASA too well to take this as a simple courtesy call. “My incisions healed nicely.”

“That’s wonderful news. We wanted to give you some space, so to speak.”

Grantaire forced a light chuckle in reply. When he’d used the same pun on his crew-mates countless times, it hadn’t left a bitter taste in his mouth like it did now. 

“Anyway, we’ve been discussing your return. Annie, Venkat, and I have begun reviewing the research you brought back, as well as your log entries.”

He fiddled with the picture frames on his dresser and feigned mild surprise. “Oh yeah?” 

“It’s uh... It’s really amazing stuff, what you brought back. Your log entries are just so raw, so vivid, especially since we were out of touch with you for so long after Pathfinder died. Now, we’ve gotten a lot of questions as to your health, and have made sure to respect the crew’s privacy as you recover.”

 _Just say it,_ he chanted in his mind. _Just get on with it._

“We have been debating on how to proceed with your public image.”

He managed to refrain a snort of derision. “Meaning...?”

“Meaning we wanted to know what your thoughts were on releasing your logs.”

A silence settled for a few moments, enough to hear each sound effect from the video game at the other end of the apartment. Grantaire swallowed, unsure of how to answer. Sure, he’d expected this topic to come up at some point, but... But now that he was faced with it, he wished he could take the log entries himself, put them in a box and shove them under the floorboards, lock them away where no one else but him could find them. 

“Benjamin?”

“Yeah, I just...” He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I hadn’t thought much about them being publicly released, to be honest. I was hoping that my crew-mates would be able to see them at some point before anyone else.”

“That’s understandable, of course. We would be happy to get the crew access to them.”

“Maybe we could wait a while...” He could almost _see_ the look of disapproval on Teddy’s face, even from thousands of miles away. Grantaire wondered how many other people were listening in on the conversation. 

“Well, you see, Benjamin... It’s been months since the return of the Hermes. Your health has improved, your crew-mates are doing well... And the public is getting impatient. You have to understand, the mission was a huge part of the news for months on end. To have your return so publicized, and then to have you disappear to Paris without public appearance... We just need something to release. The world needs to hear something.”

“I could do an interview,” he muttered unconvincingly, ignoring the unwillingness that bubbled up in his chest at the very thought. 

Teddy sighed. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to debate this...”

Grantaire suddenly understood everything in the span of a single second: they weren’t asking for _permission._ NASA had already made the decision, and calling him was just a formality. And legally, NASA _did_ own his logs since they were part of mission evidence, so he could only argue so much. It was one of the few things he remembered from the mountain of paperwork he’d gone through in the hospital. It was almost laughable, their insistence of completing it all, especially while he'd barely been able to focus on the words due to the pain medication. 

The release of the logs was inevitable, then. _I had just hoped they wouldn’t be a bunch of dicks about it... Clearly I was wrong_. 

“Right,” Grantaire said shortly. “Uh... Just get them to the crew. If you guys think they need to be released, then _fine_. But the crew will see everything you plan to release beforehand.”

The line was silent for only a few seconds before Teddy’s bright voice replied. “Great to hear, Benjamin. Annie and Venkat will be thrilled to hear that we can move forward with this. The three of us have have a lot of material to sort through.”

_Wait, three of them?_

“And what about Mitch?”

“Mitch Henderson is no longer a part of this operation.”

Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat. “Why?” He demanded. 

“It was a consequence of his involvement in the Hermes slingshot. Now, before I go, is there anything specific you wish to keep out of the log entries release?”

A hundred sour memories flooded his mind, and he balked at the thought of the entire world seeing his every action for eighteen months. _Fuck. This is exactly what I didn’t want._ “Can you just send them to me? I’ll mark the timestamps,” he replied in a slightly numb voice. “I don’t think I want every minute of footage released...”

“That’s perfectly fine, I wouldn’t expect you would be okay with that. We wouldn’t release the entirety of them, please don’t think that’s what we were planning.”

 _Thank god._ His anger subsided a little at that, and Teddy seemed a bit more human all of a sudden. 

“Okay.”

“Okay, Benjamin. It was nice to talk to you and I am so glad to hear you’re recovery is going well. Let me know when you receive the footage, and we won’t do anything until you get back to us. We can send portions to your crew as you review them. Thank you again.”

“Yeah, sure...” _Click._

The faint sounds of Gavroche and Feuilly’s video game broke his concentration, and he slumped by the door with a sigh. Part of him hoped he could ignore the log entries, and the other part of him was waiting for NASA to forget for him. Now, they'd effectively put a spotlight on them. 

 _“Shit,”_ he finally sighed to himself. 

...

“Jesus,” Grantaire choked out. He leaned back against the wall and slowly sank to the floor, unable to tear his eyes away from the laptop he clutched in his hands. True to his word, Teddy Sanders had sent him every bit of unedited footage from his video log entries— All five-hundred and forty-nine Sols’ worth of footage, the majority of which he’d managed to block out from his daily thoughts. The details hadn't mattered to him, until now. Everything came at him in full force from the moment he had opened the first file.   

Horrified was a bit of an understatement: his own rough voice from the surface of Mars filtering out of his tiny speakers, with the sounds of traffic outside and _Paris_ around him, was overwhelming. He felt like he was in two places at once, somehow simultaneously existing on Mars and Earth. Differentiating between his memories of Mars and recent memories suddenly became very difficult. The juxtaposition made his head spin.

_I'm entering this log for the record in case I don’t make it._

_Commander Lewis, if you ever see this... It wasn’t your fault._

_I’m alone on Mars._

Grantaire didn’t realize how little time had passed since the mission until he found himself mouthing along to the audio with a pained expression on his face. He wanted nothing more than to close his laptop and _run,_ but realized he was completely incapable of looking away. He was mesmerized, watching himself succumb to his fate, desperately trying to feel as though it wasn’t _him_ on camera but someone else, some actor hired as a joke. 

“It’s not a joke,” he muttered to himself, half expecting his subconscious to shoot back with a witty remark. 

The first video finally faded out to the entry date and then his own ghostly reflection in the laptop was the only thing he could see.  

Grantaire couldn’t stop himself from submerging himself in the rest of memories as he pressed _play._

_..._

_“R?”_

He vaguely recognized Enjolras’s muffled voice from the other side of the door, and made no move to answer it. Another light knock followed, and more voices. In the back of his mind he registered the fact that he had been staring at the logs for hours on end, and that their friends were arriving, but he _couldn’t_ move. It was hypnotizing, in the worst way. 

_If I die, will you check on my friends in Paris? They’ll want to hear all about our time on Mars._

_Please tell them I love what I do, and that I’m really good at it._

_My crew is actually coming back for me..._

_They’re flying the Hermes around Earth and resupplying with a Chinese booster, since mine exploded. Then they’ll head back to Mars._

As Grantaire devoured each new minute of footage, he felt the _tiniest_  glimmer of doubt in the back of his mind, and suddenly it consumed him—a hundred different remarks and reactions from the people around him played in his mind like a loop. Teddy's remark about Mitch stood out, as well. His own thoughts and words and emotions flooded him... Every detail was coming together in a way he had been oblivious to before. 

Everything suddenly clicked, and his blood went cold at the realization.

 _I have to know,_ he thought in a daze. _I have to—_

His feel were moving before he could register anything else and the laptop fell from his hands with a loud _thud._

 _“Grantaire? Are you—"_ Joly’s concerned voice cut off as Grantaire emerged from his room. He was greeted with a chorus of cheers from his friends, but could not focus his gaze on any of them. A small part of him was aware of how stupefied, how shattered he must look.

“You good, dude?” Bahorel asked him. “You’ve been in there for nine hours.”

He ran a hand through his shaggy curls and frowned, staring at the floor, his feet, his hands, the wall, the clock, _anything_ but them—his eyes were moving too fast. Everything was spinning.

Someone called out to him. “R?”

Grantaire inhaled sharply, desperately trying to keep himself grounded. “I’m fine,” he said shortly.

“Are you feeling okay, or...?” Courfeyrac inquired.

“No, I uh...” His breaths had turned into quiet, ragged pants, and he ground his teeth together for a moment. Words tumbled out of his mouth without thinking. “I’ve been watching my video logs. NASA is going to release them.”

Everyone was deadly quiet for a few moments, their shock as evident as his discomfort. 

“Are you...” Enjolras began, but was cut off with a casual wave of Grantaire’s hand.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Combeferre said slowly. “Are you just taking a break, or do you want to join us?”

The spinning had stopped for the most part, but the fog of thoughts and memories still settled on his shoulders like the weight of the world. He opened his mouth slightly, suddenly at a complete loss for words. “I, uh... When Sanders called me, he mentioned something about Mitch Henderson. He’s been fired.”

He didn’t bother looking up at them, to see their reactions (of lack of them). Instead he stared intently at the edge of his coffee table, letting his own assumptions steer his thoughts. The suspicions he dreaded made him quicker than his friends, even under the heavy fog.

“And then what felt like a million details came at me all at once, and suddenly everything is starting to make sense, but I have to know...” Grantaire looked up, meeting their gazes with an intensity he didn’t know he possessed. The fog was gone. “I _have_ to know for sure. You all are going to tell me what the hell happened with the Hermes slingshot, and you're going to tell me right now.”

Several sets of eyes flickered to him, and then at each other, but two sets of gazes were unwavering. Combeferre cleared his throat, and Enjolras’s mouth set into a grim line. “Okay,” Combeferre began gently, “well, this started after you established contact with NASA.” 

“Right after Pathfinder,” Enjolras added in a quiet voice. “About two years ago.”

Ferre nodded along, and looked back to Grantaire. “We had gotten a call from Mitch Henderson, and...”

...

By the time Combeferre and Enjolras had finished telling him the events that transpired, they both looked older than they were. Exhaustion showed on every one of their faces, most of all Grantaire, who had sunk down into the nearest chair as he was told the story of the Rich Purnell maneuver, and of his crew’s involvement. It was much more than he had expected to hear, and somehow exactly what he had suspected. 

 _“Mutiny?”_ Grantaire finally breathed, closing his eyes. His hand was halfway over his mouth in a mixture of horror and disbelief. 

“It was the perfect solution,” Feuilly said—even he sounded drained and worn out beyond his years. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He whispered to no one in particular. "Why didn't anyone _tell_ me?"

“Legalities,” Enjolras supplied. “Everything was at stake... We had so many people on the line, and the last person we wanted suffering because of this was you. Imagine what NASA would have done if they found out you knew, you’d be just as liable as us, as your crew. We couldn't set you up to be a possible scapegoat.”

“But... why,” he choked, _“why_ would you do this in the first place? How could you and my crew put yourselves at stake like this?”

They all shifted uneasily at his low voice, feeling the full weight of their silence hit them for the first time since Grantaire had gotten back. If there was any hope of never mentioning their involvement, it was now gone. 

Enjolras raised one eyebrow, confused at the apparent sense of betrayal. “Grantaire, you have no idea how political things got here. We _had_ to-"

“No,” Grantaire began carefully, “you didn’t. You did not have to do this.”

“Well what else would you have us do?” Enjolras demanded in indignation. “Would you rather have wanted Combeferre and I to stay silent? For me to let you d—"

“I don't know, I don't _know,”_ he moaned, unable to look them in the eye. _“God.”_

It suddenly occurred to Eponine, out of everyone else there, that Grantaire’s face was guilt ridden—not angry. “Enjolras,” she said softly, grasping his arm, “let him go.”

“What?” Enjolras said, his eyes flickering back and forth between them.

“Just... Enough.”

They saw an agonized expression cross Grantaire’s face as he stumbled out of the front door, leaving them alone with the memories of the last two years replaying over and over. 

...

_“Grantaire?”_

Lewis’s worried voice, even through the phone, was enough to send a sharp pang of regret through his chest. 

“Why, _why_ didn't you tell me?” He begged, pacing around the roof in circles. “Why couldn't you say anything to me?”

_“Are you okay? Tell you wh—"_

“The _maneuver,”_ he said desperately. “The mutiny.”

His commander was silent for a few moments, clearly taken aback at his call. When she spoke again her voice was tired, just as worn out as Combeferre and Feuilly and Enjolras had sounded, and it only made the waves of despair feel ten times worse, he felt like he could _drown_ in the guilt—

 _“We wanted to protect you,”_ Lewis said simply. _“Which isn't a good enough excuse for keeping you in the dark. But after everything that happened, after everything you suffered through, we didn’t want that weight on your shoulders, too.”_

Grantaire clutched the phone closer to his ear and sank into a ball onto the ground. Everything came back to _his_ condition, _his_ safety, and he couldn’t bear it. 

_“Hey, are you still there?”_

He tried to speak, but only a soft groan of despair fell out of his mouth. 

_“I regret not telling you sooner, Grantaire, I do. I know our crew-mates would feel the same.”_

“I wish none of this had happened,” he whispered. What he meant, though, was _I wish I never survived one single Sol on Mars._ Part of him wished he could say it aloud, just so someone could tell him his guilt at being rescued was ridiculous. That he should feel grateful. That he could tell Enjolras that maybe, _just_ maybe, that he was right, and a part of him wanted to die.

_“Grantaire?”_

“Yeah?” He said, numb beyond belief.

_“I’m here if you just want to talk.”_

Grantaire slowly stood up and began to descend the stairs. He was going to talk with his friends, and act normal, and try to appear like he was what everyone had _hoped_ they rescued from Mars, and not this shell of a person he felt like. _The thought of their disappointment when they realize I wasn’t worth it will eventually crush me,_ he thought. 

“I’m okay, Commander,” Grantaire said softly. “Just tired.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Your comments keep me thriving as a human being and I treasure them all


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t need to worry about searching the apartment for it. He wouldn’t be forced to risk getting a lecture at the Musain. He didn’t even have to worry about going _out_ and getting recognized on the street... 

Grantaire simply had to ask Montparnasse, and there would be no questions, no disapproving looks, no trips to the doctor. Out of everyone he was the _one_ person that could be counted on not to patronize him. He was simply there, and for that Grantaire was grateful. When the light _knock_ interrupted his thoughts less than twenty minutes after he'd texted, he pushed away the uneasiness in his chest and rose to answer the door with a smile plastered on his face. 

Montparnasse, as expected, did not lecture him. Instead he only raised one concerned eyebrow as he held out the bag. “Are you sure?” He asked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Grantaire muttered, passing him a slightly crumpled bill in exchange. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, and with a curious, lingering look, Montparnasse was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. 

Grantaire shuffled back into his bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him, even though he knew no one would be around for a while. With one last pang of guilt he peered into the bag, his fingers running over the tops of the bottles so that their muffled _clinks_ seemed to echo around the silent room. _Too late now,_ he thought. It wasn’t convincing enough, even to himself, and he ignored the memories of his younger years that now unwillingly appeared in his mind. He let out a short, bitter sigh at himself before grabbing the wine and pressing _play_.

...

“Hey, are you awake? Do you want to go to the Musain with us tonight?” Enjolras asked. No answer. He felt the familiar sensation of worry biting at the edge of his mind and tried not to let his voice betray him. He knocked very lightly, his knuckles lingering on the door. “R?” 

He was just turning to walk away when Grantaire’s gruff voice filtered out from his room. _“I don’t sound the same.”_

“Grantaire? Are you okay, can I-?"

_“Yeah.”_

Enjolras braced himself for the sight, knowing _that_ tone was worth worrying about. He half expected to see Grantaire pacing wildly around the room, or pulling his hair, or falling apart— But Grantaire was only leaning against the wall with his laptop open, a hoodie pulled over his dark mop of curls. He breathed a sigh of relief, only for it to be replaced with the ice-cold sensation of fear when he saw the wine bottles sitting on the floor next to him. _Oh, fuck._

“Don’t worry, Apollo,” he said softly—much softer than Enjolras would have expected from him. “I haven’t drank them all.”

He hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say when he felt like an alarm was blaring in his head. “That’s... A good start,” he finally said.

Grantaire chuckled, sounding a little more like himself. His blue eyes flickered from the laptop screen up to his face, and Enjolras almost wept at the brief sight of the crinkles at his eyes when he smiled. “You sound like a therapist. Not a good one, either.” 

Enjolras ducked his head in amusement. “Sorry.” He gazed at Grantaire for a few moments before frowning. “What did you mean, though? You not sounding the same...”

“Here,” Grantaire said, shuffling to the side a little bit, “sit down.”

Enjolras was a bit taken aback. “What?” 

Grantaire only patted the ground next to him, not even taking his eyes from the screen as Enjolras carefully sat down. 

Their shoulders brushed, just _barely_ touching, and Enjolras immediately thought of the night they stayed up until the sunrise as Grantaire spoke of the beauty of Mars. He could almost see it, the way Grantaire had talked about it, even his words were as vivid as the paintings he guarded to closely...

It was the sharpest contrast from the images currently on Grantaire’s laptop screen, and his heart did a little flip at the sight of it. 

“Bad, isn’t it?” He asked Enjolras dryly, turning up the volume. “This is Sol 439, not long before I headed to the crater.”

Enjolras hoped to any deity that was listening that his horror did not show on his face. The sight of Grantaire, so ghostlike, so absolutely emaciated and defeated, made him feel like all warmth had drained from his body. It felt like he was watching death.

Out of the corner of his eye he barely registered Grantaire’s faint grin. “You missed all the good parts,” he said with a hollow laugh. 

All Enjolras could focus on was the absence of a spark in Grantaire's eyes, the way he looked after everything he had been through, the surroundings of the Hab that he had only imagined for so long. Enjolras had only seen pictures of Grantaire from the Hermes—his reunion, his recovery, but _nothing_ from Mars itself. Not like this, not with Grantaire’s trauma so clearly on display. This video log was right during the period without any contact, months after his rations had been cut down, and he looked like he was a dead man walking. _Jesus,_ he thought. It was more vivid than Enjolras had ever imagined and he could not look away for the life of him. He was so  _thin..._

“This episode is good but I prefer last season. Better writing.”

Enjolras wanted to groan at Grantaire’s joking... How he could brush off his appearance was completely _beyond_ him. It suddenly hit him how gritty and brutal each day must have gone, each day without _anyone_ else there. It was one thing to imagine it, and something else entirely to actually see the video log firsthand. Enjolras felt like he was reliving every single day of his own fear all over again in the span of a minute.

It must have shown on his face, because Grantaire silently stopped the video and looked back up at him. “Enjolras?”

The screen was frozen but he couldn’t tear his eyes away... He felt like it was the only thing he’d see for the rest of his life when he closed his eyes. He would never be able to erase that image from his memory. 

“Hey,” Grantaire said, gently prodding his shoulder. “You need a drink?”

The ridiculousness of the question made Enjolras bark out half hysterical laugh. “No,” he said rubbing his eyes. “No, I just...”

“Sorry, that was a lot. I probably should have warned you or something.”

“Jesus, _no_ Grantaire. Don’t apologize, I just wasn’t expecting... I didn’t realize...”

“How bad I looked?”

Enjolras looked up at him and his eyebrows knit together at the knowing look on Grantaire’s face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I didn’t imagine anything like that.”

Grantaire gave him a sympathetic nod and reached for the bottle of wine on his opposite side. 

“Wait, R,” Enjolras said, “don’t...”

“I’ve heard it before, please don’t give me this lecture right now,” he said softly, sounding much older than he was. He sounded exhausted beyond belief, and it made Enjolras wince. 

Several moments passed before Grantaire’s voice broke the silence. “I know you _probably_ weren’t intentionally lying to me, but I don’t sound the same.”

“I don’t think your voice is different,” Enjolras said truthfully. “You sound like you always have.”

“It is,” he sighed. “Listening to myself in these log entries... I can hear the changes. I notice when my voice stops sounding the same.”

Enjolras didn’t know what to say, and he bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Grantaire.”

“It’s not you.” The wine bottle caught the light of the laptop as Grantaire drank, and their faces lit up with a green glow.

“Please, _please_ don’t get sick from this,” Enjolras said. “You know how bad your immune system is right now.”

“I know.” 

“We worry _so_ much...”

“I know,” he repeated. 

“And it would be so easy to fall down that hole-"

Grantaire held up a hand. “Enjolras, I know.”

His own heart was pounding in his chest. “Do you, though?”

“Yes. I hear you now and I heard you years ago.”

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Meaning every disparaging comment about my drinking habits, I listened to you. I started to fall down that hole but I didn’t.”

He thought back to the first couple years of their friendship, trying to count the number of times they’d had this same conversation. “I was worried about you then, too.”

“More angry than worried, I think. At least then you didn’t sound like a shrink back then,” Grantaire teased. 

Enjolras didn’t laugh. “I could see you wasting your potential,” he said hotly. “Everyone could. Who else was going to argue with you?”

“True,” he conceded.  

“So you gave up heavy drinking just to spite me, and now you’re drinking _to_ spite me?”

“No,” Grantaire said with a gentle laugh, patting his arm. “No, calm down, Apollo. I gave up my habits because they needed to be given up.”

“I hadn’t seen you drink more than a single glass of wine in almost six years until tonight,” Enjolras said carefully. “Why did you stop, back then? You never told us.”

Grantaire chewed at his lip before answering, his eyes surprisingly bright for the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. “NASA called. And when they call, you answer, you know?”

(He didn’t know, but he tried to wrap his head around it regardless.)

“I loved working at ESA with nearly every fiber of my being, but it wasn’t enough to make me quit completely. Nothing could ever do that. But when they told me I could go to _Mars,_ that I could be part of something great, I felt like I could be _better_. That I could stop getting disapproving looks—"

Enjolras’s stomach twisted in guilt. _Were we not enough? Is that why you left?_  He wanted to ask, but deep down he knew the answers already. 

“—and that there was potential waiting for me. I never knew I could be part of something that _mattered._ It’s why I shaped myself into who I used to dream of.” Grantaire stopped for a few moments and fiddled with the top of the bottle. “And look where it got me,” he said, shaking his head. 

For what felt like the billionth time in just a few weeks, Enjolras was at a complete and utter loss for words. He took Grantaire’s hand and squeezed, hoping the gesture would say what he could not.  

(Grantaire didn’t let go.) 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Nothing had outright changed, although somehow everything was _different_ between Enjolras and Grantaire... There was an ease to their daily interactions that hadn’t been there in the months that Grantaire had been back, and had not even been there years ago. It was the comfort of the other’s presence, the lack of awkwardness when Grantaire was feeling low, in casual laughs throughout the day. It was refreshing, and he told Eponine just that. 

“I don’t know, Ep, I just never expected us to... To get along like this, you know?” He said over dinner, grinning down at the takeout box. “It’s just different.”

Eponine beamed at him, his shy smile contagious. “You like him again, don’t you?”

 _“Again_ is an interesting term,” he chuckled with a small shake of his head.

“Well, you did go from waxing poetic to _throwing_ yourself into your research,” she said slyly, “and it was noticeable to _some_ of us.”

He smiled fondly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I used to be able to read you like an open book,” Eponine lamented when he did not say more. 

Grantaire raised a glass at her pout. “Cheers.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “You didn’t answer me, jackass.”

“Oh?” 

“What do you think, then?” She asked, dropping her teasing tone.

Leaning back against the worn out couch, Grantaire sighed and turned to look at her. “I was in love with him,” he said softly. “Or, at least I thought I was.”

“So, you fell out of love?”

Grantaire tore his eyes away from her and gazed up at the ceiling, deep in thought as he reminisced of space. “I don’t know, honestly. I think I just gave up."

"You gave up... on Enjolras?

"No," he said. "On myself. On the thought of us.”

Eponine pursed her lips and rifled though her memories of conversations with Enjolras. She remembered an early morning in front of a map, an easy smile on the blonde's face. “So you weren't disillusioned with him?”

“I don’t know, Ep,” he sighed, “why all the questions? You know all of this already. It's not like I even had time for a relationship once I began training for the mission, after all.”

“I’m just trying to figure out your newfound happiness,” she said with a slight smile. “That’s all.”

“You usually don’t play psychiatrist. I have enough of those, thanks.”

She frowned, Grantaire’s words striking a nerve. “Well, _forgive_ me for doing what all best friends do.”

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, gentler than before. “It just used to be easier to talk about my feelings with you, I guess... I don’t know what happened.”

“You left,” Eponine said pointedly. “You left, that’s what happened.”

He held out his hand, eyebrows knitting together in sympathy. “I was going to come back sooner, you know th-”

“No, I mean you _left._ Even if the mission had gone well, you still left Paris in the first place. You just dropped everything and everyone and left.”

He stared at her, taken aback at her sudden sharp tone. Not for the first time, he suddenly began thinking of his years away from home, and her words ignited more guilt within his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

She turned her face from him, desperately blinking tears away, her mask cracking under the strain of their friendship that didn’t used to be there. “I never cried, you know.”

“What?”

“I didn’t cry. Not when they told us you had died, not once while you were gone, not until I saw you in the hospital.” Eponine still wasn’t looking at him. “I was determined not to waste any tears on you, because I knew you’d hate that and probably roll your eyes.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Grantaire’s face. “Yeah.”

“But mostly because I couldn’t get over how angry I was that you had abandoned everyone. When you grew tired of loving Enjolras you just le—”

“No, no, Eponine,” he whispered, feeling a pang in his chest as sparkling tears began flowing down her face. “I did not leave because of him.”

“You promise?” She asked sharply, turning back to him.

“I swear to you. I left for the mission, and that's it.”

She finally took his outstretched hand and nodded, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “Okay. I’m sor-"

“Don’t apologize,” he said, cutting her off. “You would punch me if I tried to apologize for something like that.”

Eponine let out a genuine laugh, sniffling. She curled into his embrace and sighed. “That’s true.”

He tightened his arm around her, neither of them making any move to get up. Several minutes passed like this, the apartment unnaturally quiet, only the sounds of light rainfall coming in through the open living room windows. Eponine could have stayed like that for hours, letting the rain lull them both into an easy calmness as they held onto each other. She was just on the brink of dozing off when she felt the vibrations of Grantaire’s voice through his chest pull her back. 

“Eponine, what happened? After I died.”

She was thankful she was still tucked under one of his arms so he could not see the expression on her face. It was only logical for him to ask that, and yet... She simply hadn't expected it. Not for years, maybe even never. “What do you mean?”

“What was my funeral like?”

 _Oh,_ she thought. _That._

“Well...” Eponine began once she realized he wasn’t going to say anything else, “it was a blur. It was like... we were still numb from the emotions that had hit us too quickly.” She worked to keep her voice level, knowing full well that he would never begin to understand their pain of learning he was dead. Suddenly a hundred memories flooded her mind, ones she tried to never linger on too long. 

 _An early morning in the cafe. The sound of a sob ripping through Feuilly’s chest as he told them. A feeling of ice settling in her chest that still had not fully thawed. Reporters and TV crews and newspapers, a never-ending slew of people gingerly asking them about their friend. NASA representatives, ESA colleagues._ She surfaced from them, realizing Grantaire was still quietly waiting on her answer. 

“They held your funeral five days after the storm. The weather that November was like a slap in the face to how we felt. You know how dreary and wet and dark it always gets?” She felt Grantaire nod. “Well, it was impossibly sunny. It was cold, sparkling weather, that didn’t falter—not once—as we made arrangements for you. It was beautiful, like Paris was flourishing just for you.”

Eponine took a deep breath, finally allowing herself to linger on the memories she tried to hard to forget. Grantaire’s arm around her anchored her and gave her a type of strength she didn’t know she needed just to be able to speak of what had occurred.

“Your funeral was held at the military cemetery just outside the city. An empty casket, of course. There were so many people there that I couldn’t concentrate, none of us felt like speaking to them. There were several politicians there that Enjolras would have normally punched,” she said dryly, “but we were all just so quiet, even to each other. I don't think any of us _could_ speak.”

“And the service?” Grantaire asked gently. 

“It was... heartbreaking,” she admitted, her voice so quiet she was surprised he could even hear her. “A few ESA officials spoke, your old team leaders, Sanders and Henderson from NASA. They read a message from your crew,” she added, the pain almost as fresh as it had felt over two years earlier.

“It was from Lewis, I don't think Martinez or Beck would have been able to...” Eponine stopped abruptly, wondering if she should even continue, for his sake. “Is this too much, R? Do I need to stop?”

“No,” he said, resolute. “I want to hear this.”

“Okay,” Eponine said, reassured. “Okay. Well, then Feuilly got up to the podium... He was calm. It was as though he was speaking to you, actually, like you were right up there with him. He turned to your picture for a split second and just smiled, and then began to tell stories. Nothing about space or Mars. He talked about your plants, your sense of humor, adventures with Bossuet and Joly, the time you and Enjolras had gotten in an ridiculous argument about the War of the Roses—"

She felt Grantaire’s frame shake with light laughter. “I remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Those stories didn’t fix everything, but it was the perfect touch. And after the service was over we drove back into the city and went to the Musain. We went upstairs and poured shots of vodka, unable to say anything to each other... Until Joly let out this unexpected _peal_ of laughter.” Eponine was really grinning at the memory now.

“We all just stared, wondering what came over him. I mean, this was literally less than an _hour_ after your funeral... He just started to cackle at the story that Feuilly told. And then suddenly we were all laughing, all telling stories about you. And _to_ you, as if you were still sitting in your chair. It was the first time most of us had smiled since we found out you were... Well, anyway, we just sat around drinking and reminiscing over you. It was just...”

“Fitting,” Grantaire supplied. Somehow she knew he was smiling, too. “I wouldn’t have wanted anything else.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, anything else would have just seemed wrong.”

Grantaire pressed a kiss to the top of her head. _“Thank you for telling me,”_ he whispered.

She wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. “Always.”

They both begin to doze off again to the sound of the rain, both feeling a little lighter than they had before—Eponine, with the knowledge that the past wouldn’t destroy her, and Grantaire, with another piece to the puzzle explained. He finally let his eyes fall shut, images of his friends and the sounds of their laughter pulling him into a dreamless sleep. 

...

**[ SEVEN YEARS EARLIER ]**

The meeting came to a screeching halt as Enjolras and Grantaire began to argue—a normal occurrence, by now. A few of them began muttering to themselves in low voices, others completely ignored them. Only Combeferre paid much attention to the fight, an amused smile flitting across his face every few minutes.

It wasn’t as though their friends didn’t care about them, but the third—no, the _fourth_ heated argument of the night was a bit too much. Not that the two men in question really noticed, though. It had all started with a quiet scoff on Grantaire’s part... or a low comment, or an eye roll, or anything that caught Enjolras’s attention. This led to a sharp look from the latter, or a _huff_ , or god forbid a comment _aimed_ at Grantaire, because then, _then—_

Well, it inevitably led to razor-sharp retorts being thrown at opposite ends of the room like a tennis match (and the first and only time Bossuet and Marius _treated_ the argument as such a sporting event, their commentary was cut short as they scampered out of the Musain in fear of Enjolras’s livid expression).

This was how it went, anyway, and it was so normal that it felt like tradition. No stranger would guess that they’d only known Grantaire for six months, simply because the group’s behavior was so inexplicably familial, so at ease with each other. They _felt_ like a happy family... even if at that moment, Enjolras’s face was scarlet with frustration and Grantaire’s roaring somehow grew even louder than they thought possible. 

“What are they even arguing about?” Bahorel asked in a _very_ quiet voice, knowing full well the repercussions of being heard.

“I lost track of them ten minutes ago, but they first started fighting about fiscal policy,” Musichetta said without looking up from the playing cards in her hands. She placed them on the table with a smug expression. “Read ‘em and weep.”

 _“Shit,”_ Jehan and Bahorel said at the same time, both throwing their cards down in mild frustration. Grantaire’s voice suddenly reverberated around the room, interrupting the game.

“—You don’t _actually_ think that, then?”

“It’s certainly better than your conclusion!”

Grantaire had thrown his hands up with a bark of laughter. “Oh my god! Everyone, gather around! _This_ guy wants to run the world, and meanwhile he can’t even admit there’s a chance that—"

“My career has nothing to do with this, especially coming from you, what with your goddamned plants and—"

“Don’t even _try_ to bring my plants into this argument, Enjolras,” Grantaire deadpanned. “I will _end_ you.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Courfeyrac finally exclaimed, hitting the palm of his hand against the table. “Enough!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about—"

“ _He_ tried to insult my plants!”

“SHUT UP!” Eponine bellowed, instantly quieting the two men. “What the hell are you two still screaming about, anyway?” 

Enjolras and Grantaire both narrowed their eyes, waiting for the other to say the first word. 

 _“Well?”_ Eponine hissed, sounding as dangerous as she did when scolding little Gavroche. 

“He... thinks that... _He_ thinks Richard III could have been innocent,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

Everyone froze in their tracks, torn between absolute amusement and incredulousness. He may as well have confirmed they were arguing over the color of the sky (which, coming from the two of them, wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination). Combeferre and Cosette stifled their chuckles behind their hands as Eponine slowly raised a single eyebrow. “What?” She finally demanded.

Grantaire’s upper lip curled in disgust. “And _he_ is one-hundred percent convinced that Elizabeth’s sons were killed by him. Their _uncle._ ”

“Every _single_ historical fact points to their murders at the hand of Richard, you ridiculous—"

“Oh _really,_ Enjolras, you were there? You and Margaret Beaufort had a chat about it, I take it?”

“How about the fact that he had everything to gain from murdering them-"

“They were declared _illegitimate anyway-"_

“Everyone in England would have supported them as heirs to the throne!”

“You just want to make a tyrant out of _every_ figure in history! You get off on villainizing _every_ monarch in the history of the world-” 

“How dare you—"

Eponine slowly sank back into her chair, closing her eyes in exhaustion. “My god,” she moaned.

“Here, I think you need this more than I do,” Cosette laughed, pushing a drink toward her.

Feuilly shook his head with a fond look on his face as the argument heated up again. It clearly wasn’t going to end for a while. “I think this meeting was about done, anyway,” he said over Enjolras and Grantaire’s cries of _“Lancaster”_ and _“treason.”_

... 

Grantaire paused for a moment, eyes flitting over to the opposite side of the living room where Enjolras was busy typing away at his laptop. His mind went to his conversation with Eponine from the previous night and his mouth twitched up in a grin at the memory they'd laughed over. He resumed his sketching.

“Enjolras?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember that time we argued about the princes in the Tower?”

“Uh oh,” Enjolras said, not even looking up from his work.

He grinned at Enjolras’s tone. “But you do _remember?”_

“Yes, but I hope you aren’t asking to rehash that debate.” (He hid his own smile behind the computer at the sound of Grantaire’s warm chuckle.)

“No,” he said lightly, “I was only curious because Eponine had told me about Feuilly’s stories at the funeral.”

 _That_ got Enjolras’s attention. He raised his head at met Grantaire’s gaze from the other side of the room, wary of where the conversation was going. “Yes,” he said carefully, “I remember that... Why?”

“Just curious,” Grantaire said with an innocent smile, going back to his drawing.

“Okay,” he replied slowly. It became clear that Grantaire wasn’t going to say anything else, so he looked back down at his laptop and began working. Nearly twenty minutes passed before the silence was broken with a quiet chuckle. Enjolras raised one eyebrow, trying not to smile. He resisted the urge to glance up at him. 

“Hey, Enjolras.”

He finally looked up at him, keeping his voice neutral. “Yes, Grantaire?”

Grantaire wished he could have taken a picture at the sight of Enjolras’s face half obscured by his laptop, one eyebrow raised, and the immediate scowl that twisted his expression at the sight of Grantaire displaying his sketchbook for him—a beautiful, _white_ _rose_ taking up the full page. He collapsed into a fit of laughter as the blonde disappeared behind the computer again, muttering obscenities under his breath. 

(Enjolras was still smiling half an hour later.)

...

“You know... If the MAV had exploded and I had died in the fire, know what you could call me?”

“Hmm?” 

“A French fry.”

“Grantaire, what the _fuck_ —"

“A _French_ fry, Enjolras.“

...

“Morning,” Enjolras greeted one day as Grantaire shuffled into the kitchen.

He grunted something in response, rubbing his eyes as he began to prepare coffee. 

“You know Joly said to be careful with that...” Enjolras said casually, to which Grantaire replied by simply shooting him a glare. A fond smile flitted across his face. “Hey, I need to ask you about something.”

Grantaire stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep. 

“Our landlord—well, _your_ landlord inquired about the lease. It’s over in a few months.”

“And?” He asked, not looking up from the coffeepot. 

“And... Well, I was going to ask what your thoughts were.”

“Enjolras, it’s so _early.”_

“Uh huh,” he said without sympathy. “Anyway, what do you think?”

“About?”

“About the lease,” Enjolras huffed, slightly exasperated. “Are you staying?”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Grantaire said, pausing to take a sip of the coffee. He looked up at Enjolras from across the kitchen counter. “I guess I can start looking for a new place soon.”

“Wait,” Enjolras said, clearly confused. He shifted uncomfortably. “No, I meant— Ah, fuck. I meant, do you just want me to sign the lease again, or would you like your apartment back?”

 _Oh,_ Grantaire thought. _He’s asking if I want him to stay._ He considered the situation for less than a second and shrugged. “This place is yours as much as it's mine, by now, so if you don’t see a problem we’ll just renew.”

Enjolras relaxed. “So you don’t—?"

He cut him off with a casual wave of his hand. “Enjolras, don’t worry, you didn’t _steal_ my apartment when I was in space.” Grantaire gave him a quick smile and headed back to his bedroom to paint. “And it’s been nice having you as a roommate,” he called over his shoulder.

Enjolras pressed his lips into a smile, nodding in approval. _“Okay,”_ he breathed to himself, struggling to control the excitement in his chest.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Can you believe the original fic was only supposed to be four chapters? How naive I was 
> 
> -Thank you for the kind comments as always!! u don't know how much they've motivated me to keep this going. I'm getting really excited to post the last few chapters omg


	7. Chapter 7

It took all night to come to a decision. The email had caught his eye as he looked for the next group of log entries, and since then he couldn’t shake the message from his mind. It was an opportunity. He could almost hear Venkat Kapoor’s thoughtful tones in the offer, not a blunt demand like Teddy’s tone would have been. This decision was _his_. Grantaire weighed every detail with a scrutiny he had never felt before, as though every moment from the last ten years had been put under a microscope. 

_Am I ready?_

_Do I want this?_

_Am I only doing this for my crew?_

_What would they think?_

_What do I think?_

And just as his heart began to race under the strain of doubt he latched onto the thought of his crew like a lifeline, like oxygen, and he knew what he needed to do. It was time to break his silence, end his isolation, even if he still felt like recoiling at the very thought of it. He was resolute and felt an unfailing certainty grow stronger by the second—it was an unfamiliar sensation at the very least. The certainty was welcome, though.

_It’s time._

_..._

He told Enjolras the morning of, at the very last second, and received no visible signs of shock or worry from the other man. A simple nod of his head, and an encouraging smile, and a quiet inquiry— 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Grantaire only gave him a brief smile and nodded in return.

Now, as they approached the building downtown, he felt the faintest twinge of doubt crawl up into his throat, but it disappeared instantly as he glanced at the straight lines of Enjolras’s shoulder as they walked side by side, and strength burned in his chest like the brightest sun. He could do this. They could do this.

...

“Good morning Paris! It is a warm day here and we are live from our downtown station. Today we have a _very_ special guest... As you all know, the crew members of the Ares III mission to Mars have been almost silent since their return to Earth. Our own astronaut Benjamin Grantaire has been the focus of countless reports over the last six months. He is here with us today to discuss his return. Hello, Benjamin, it’s so nice to have you here!”

“Hello to you, Adèle, and good morning.”

“How are you enjoying life in Paris since your return from the United States? I understand you received treatment there for over a month.”

“Yes, I’m very grateful to the medical staff in Houston, though Paris has always been home to me. I’m glad to be back.”

“What did you miss the most about France?”

“The noises of the city, the food, my friends, the language... Everything.”

“This is your first public appearance since your return, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was this due to the level of attention at the landing site?”

“Not so much, I’d say it was... well, it was more to do with the fact that I couldn’t move much. I didn’t have many options to go outside.”

“I didn’t want to push the subject of your physical recovery, but... do you mind if I-"

“Go ahead, please.”

“Thank you. Could you tell us more about your recovery? There are various reports as to your level of treatment, but it’s safe to say there was more damage than NASA expected.”

“Yes, that’s true. I underwent a surgery to repair my heart and chest wall the day we landed, and since then I have gone through different procedures to help strengthen my back and legs. It was hard trying to start that physical therapy when my chest was still healing.”

“I can imagine, and have you had any problems with your heart since then?”

“Not really, although the doctors have warned me that I could expect to deal with issues later on as a result of the damage.”

“Damage, referring to... the rescue?”

“The malnutrition, the radiation. The _usual,_ you know.”

“Ah yes. I’m glad to see you’ve retained your sense of humor... Do you think that was hard to do? Stay yourself?”

“The question of the day... Yes, to answer your question, though it was hard to consider that during those eighteen months. It didn’t _really_ hit me until I was surrounded by the five people who have spent the most time with me, and then again with my closest friends here in Paris.”

“Many people have raised the concern that you didn’t have a _proper_ support system in the same way that your crew-mates do, such as immediate family or children. Do you think that hindered your recovery?”

“Not in the slightest. My support system _is_ made up of my family, as I said, and that’s all that I will say.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about those eighteen months that you feel comfortable sharing, something that can’t be understood from Pathfinder messages?”

“Hmm... I mean, that’s a big question...”

“It is, but it is the burning question on everyone’s minds. I’m sure you can appreciate the number of people who care about what you went through, what was going through your mind.”

“Actually no, it’s weird to me.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“I don’t know, I mean... It’s just wild to think of the number of people who listened, who thought about what was going on. My crew told me a lot, and my friends, but some part of me will never believe the level of support this mission garnered. My crew deserved that, certainly, but for one guy? _Come_ on.”

“It was a new level of fear, for a lot of people. The fact that you _were_ one person struck a lot of emotions.”

“Not to some.”

“And what _do_ you think of the people who rejected the rescue mission? Though you’ve been keeping to yourself, I’m sure you’ve come across reports of people around the world who were very much against the rescue maneuver. Care to comment on the nonbelievers?” 

“Ah, the _nonbelievers._ I have no ill words for them, and to tell you the truth, if I had been aware of everything that was going on while I was on the surface, I probably would have sided with a lot of them.”

_“Wow.”_

“That surprises you?”

“Does that mean you...”

“I am grateful beyond words for the support from NASA and my crew, most of all. I can’t begin to describe what it all meant to me. But I wasn’t aware of what was going on, you know? I had planned to be rescued by the next Ares mission, if at all. Death was inevitable for a very long time... I would have never expected my crew to come _back_ for me, and all those resources and extra energy that went into my rescue is something I cannot fathom. I guess that if I knew about it, I probably would have agreed with the _nonbelievers_ , that it’s too much for one person.”

“Although several people were outspoken at their disapproval of your rescue, so many more spoke out for that very reason. That you _were_ one person, and so was every other astronaut that’s ever been up there. It was certainly humbling, for us, to think of you so far away. Sometimes it’s hard to grasp just how many kilometers away it is.”

“Ah yeah, sometimes I forget how far even with the round trip. It’s just a bunch of big numbers until you’re floating in the middle of it, and then it hits you.”

“You and your crew prepared for this mission by training at various space stations in orbit. Can you tell us about how it felt to be in deep space, compared to controlled exercises with Earth in sight?”

“That’s something I don’t know if I can ever put into words. The vibrancy of being in deep space with the colors, the lack of sound, the _brightness_ of the stars around you... It all comes together like you’re swimming in it, and it’s so unbelievably different than being in low orbit, like floating in clear blue waters and then diving into the deepest part of the ocean. It’s definitely easier to feel lost in.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to capture what you experienced and convey it for people, for other astronauts?”

“If I knew _how,_ then yeah, absolutely. I think it would mean a lot to my crew, as well.”

“Is it strange to not be with your crew? After all, you trained together for a period of time-"

“Three years.”

“-and then the mission itself lasted another two. Excluding your time on the surface, of course, the Ares III crew-mates were together for nearly all of those five years. How does it feel to be separated now that the six of you are back? Do you talk to them often?”

“I talk to them every day. It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t, even if it’s just brief texts or pictures. They can’t get rid of me _that_ easily, even though they already tried to-"

“Oh _my!”_

 _“Ha,_ I joke, but yes, it is definitely strange to not be with them. A lot of our mission preparations revolved around us familiarizing with each other so we could survive on the Hermes for that long together. I mean, you only see the same five people everyday for two years. They wouldn’t have put this team together if they didn’t think we were compatible, but the threat of clashing remains with any humans. Even so, I miss them with every fiber of my being... I know Martinez is probably rolling his eyes right now, too, but he _knows_. We all know how we feel without saying it. We were constructed to be a team for the duration of the mission and ended up becoming a family without any effort. Those five people are part of me, and I’m a part of them, and time or distance can’t change that.”

“Well said, Benjamin. Is there anything else you want to add?” 

“My utmost gratitude for the people who believed in me, even when I didn’t.”

“The entire world still stands with you. Thank you so much for your candor and your wit, it is refreshing to see you doing well. We hope to see more of you in the coming years. Thank you again to Benjamin Grantaire for being with us today. _Now,_ to the latest election news...”

...

 _“God,_ that was incredible!” Enjolras gushed (truly _gushed)_ as they left the building from the secondary exit. After the news broke that Grantaire was being interviewed for the first time, crowds had immediately begun to flock outside the station, and the reporters had gladly given them a more secretive exit. Now they proceeded down the opposite street without any attention. 

Grantaire grinned at Enjolras’s tone. “You’re just thrilled that I didn’t curse.” He felt light, lighter than air itself, and they seemed to breeze down the street. It felt like the first time he’d ever floated in space—he looked down at his feet to make sure that _yes,_ they were on the ground. _Could have fooled me._

 _“Fuck_ , I would have been in awe either way. I mean, you always talk about how you’re not good with words, but that was... Amazing. You were amazing.”

He was glad he could duck under his hat to hide his blush. “I didn’t know what to expect, honestly.”

“They didn’t give you the questions beforehand?”

“Enjolras, I didn’t even have a notecard. I was talking out of my ass the entire time!” Grantaire said in a rush, laughing excitedly. Out of everything he’d worried about, he felt giddy at the simplicity of it all. How could that have felt so _refreshing?_

Enjolras laughed with him, and one look at his face showed the same euphoria that Grantaire felt. His smile was almost blinding. “God! Sitting there behind the camera crew, I _swear,_ Grantaire, I almost cheered out loud, you spoke with such _ease!_ I guarantee your surprise interview will be the biggest headline for a week straight. You handled that _so_ well... I was proud,” he said, happiness _pouring_ out of his mouth as he stopped to look at Grantaire, “I am so proud of you.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, unable to wipe their beaming smiles from their faces, as though they were teenagers feeling the rush of joy for the first time. They felt young. Months of worry and tension and pain couldn’t take this moment from Grantaire, nor Enjolras. 

Grantaire’s heart raced in the best possible way. “Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling up a bit at the edges from gratitude.

“I think that was really good for you,” Enjolras continued. “And now NASA can stop prodding you about public appearances for a while.”

“Fuck,” he drawled, “tell me about it.”

“Taire... Do you want to go out and celebrate?”

“Well yeah, that would be great! I can text Joly and Epon-“

Enjolras actually _blushed_ , but managed not to lose his resolve. “No, I mean... Us.”

Grantaire froze, his smile plastered on his face like he’d just been turned into a statue. Only his eyebrows, furrowing in the faintest confusion, moved. “Wait, like...a... roommate thing?”

“It can be,” Enjolras said quietly, treading carefully through the unfamiliar territory. (Years of imagining these words couldn’t have prepared him and his hands barely kept themselves steady while his heart pounded like a drum.) “Or it can be more. If you’d like.”

Maybe it was years of delicate training or psychological preparation, or maybe it was from everything that he’d been through in the last two years, or maybe, just _maybe,_ it was because he was ready for this. He was beyond ready for something like this, and his reply fell from his lips like the first rays of sunlight on an easy morning. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’d like that.”

...

“Eponine,” he said in hushed tones as he closed his bedroom door behind him, “you won’t believe what happened today... Yeah, no, it was a last minute thing. Anyway, I was— _yes,_ it went fine, I’m glad you watched it. No but listen, on the way back—No, NASA did not force me to do that. The interview was my decision and I’m happy I did it. But listen to me, on the way back, Enjolras asked me—Eponine, I swear I’m not lying, NASA is being very supportive of me right now, but _listen to me,_ I just got back and... Eponine...Ep... _Enjolrasaskedmeoutandholyfuck... Yes,_ that’s what I’ve been _trying to tell you!_ I just...Yes...Yes, earlier today, and...oh my god, Eponine, _stop,_ I’m already blushing and... No, we were walking back from the interview and...”

...

 **ENJOLRAS:** _I did it_

 **COMBEFERRE:** _Finally_

 **COMBEFERRE:** _Well...?_

 **ENJOLRAS:** _He said yes_

 **ENJOLRAS:** _!!!!!_

 **COMBEFERRE:** _Told you so :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Um ok so I've actually managed to make an outline for the rest of this and I'm so excited now? Recently realized I've been working on this series for almost a year and oh my god 
> 
> -I have so many scenes that I love but I don't think _need_ to be in the last three chapters. What do you think of a separate work for those after I complete this one? Like ficlets 
> 
> -Almost there my guys


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m going to call Joly.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious. Going to have him rescue me. _He_ wouldn’t treat me like this.”

“Right.”

Grantaire's scowl deepened at Enjolras's unfazed tone, who had barely looked up from his crossword puzzle the entire time they'd been in the exam room, only meeting his gaze with a smug smile as the nurses took his blood. Earlier that morning Enjolras had casually walked him out of the—well, _their_ apartment building as Grantaire left for his monthly medical check up. He only realized Enjolras was walking _with_ him when he didn’t turn to go to work.

 _To make sure you don’t forget,_ Enjolras had said with a sly smile. Clearly he’d been talking to Combeferre. 

 _I wouldn’t have_ skipped _the appointment,_ he'd said, feigning insult. Though, he had indeed “forgotten” to go the previous month—but who could blame him? Tests and examinations and needles upon needles... Something like that would even scare Joly away.

He fiddled with the edge of the hospital gown and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You're cruel. Always talking about how much you care for the _people.”_

That made Enjolras laugh, and his amused brown eyes met Grantaire’s over the top of his glasses. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

“I thought I would get to _enjoy_ life after I got better,” Grantaire whined, “and you dragged me here over an _hour_ ago. This is a violation of my rights as a citizen, or something. They haven't stopped poking and prodding me with needles since we got here.”

“Well of course they haven’t,” Enjolras said, slightly exasperated. At Grantaire's brief look of confusion he let out a sigh and set his book of puzzles down. “Look, you've been cooperating with the doctors since you've been back, and I'm sure it's a lot to have to deal with. But imagine how many questions your body can answer, how much research people want to complete based on your experience. I mean, have you _seen_ the way Joly looks at you?”

“Like a hunter and his prey,” Grantaire muttered under his breath.

“Exactly. So it's no wonder they do so many tests when you come in for your check ups, they have to get as much data as they can before you retreat back to your fortress. They probably don’t blame you for being so reserved from the public but that won’t stop them from jumping on the rare days you _are_ here.”

“My fortress?” He asked with a smile, distracted. “So that's what you think of the apartment?”

“No,” Enjolras replied thoughtfully, going back to his crossword. “Not so much a fortress. More like a barricade from the world.”

Grantaire smiled and watched Enjolras's eyebrows furrow at a new word.

“Here, I’ve got something to distract you from all the needles. What's a five-letter word for a multinational, low orbit, gamma-ray observatory that was launched in 2008? _Something_ space telescope.”

“Fermi,” he replied with a gleam in his eye. Enjolras let out a satisfied sound as he filled in the letters. “The Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope.”

“Thank _you,”_ Enjolras drawled. “And what about a seven-letter word to describe the hinged surface on spacecraft wings that are used to adjust the flight angle? It ends—"

“Aileron.”

“—with the letter _N._ Oh, great, thanks. Was stuck on that one for a while...”

Grantaire grinned. “A space-themed crossword puzzle, I take it?”

“Something like that,” Enjolras replied with a smile in his voice. “Now, what about an eight-letter word for...”

...

“Does this count as a date?” Grantaire asked without warning nearly half an hour later, rubbing his arm with a slight wince as a nurse left with another blood sample.

Enjolras stilled for a minute before letting out an unexpected snort. “I hadn't thought of that,” he laughed. “Oh god... I guess if it does, it's a pretty shitty one.”

Grantaire shrugged at his apologetic smile. “I would personally count this as less of a date and more of an _ordeal,_ but just curious nonetheless.”

His eyes twinkled in amusement. “No, it's not a date to me either. Now now. I was going to ask what you felt like doing tonight, though.”

“Hmm,” Grantaire said, leaning back on the table dramatically, “I mean, I bet I could call up a few colleagues, get a shuttle to the space station. We could cruise around low orbit and you could see the northern lights, and...”

His voice trailed off as Enjolras’s eyebrow raised higher and higher. “What, is that too much of a reach?”

“Just a bit,” he deadpanned. “I had something a bit less _complicated_ in mind.”

Grantaire smiled. “Uncomplicated sounds great.”

...

“We'll be back in a few minutes to take you for your X-ray,” the fourth doctor of the day—or was it the fifth?—said before leaving. 

Grantaire nodded and moved to carefully stretch his back out, his tired mind beginning to wander. He placed a hand to his ribs as he inhaled, wondering what the doctor thought of his figure and slow-healing injuries. Clearly he was far from the malnourished ghost that had come back eight months earlier, though his body still felt like he was fighting to catch up. 

He glanced up to ask Enjolras a question and froze, suddenly realizing that the gown had been pushed down, leaving his chest exposed. He felt a wave of self consciousness at the sight of his ribs; could Enjolras count them from where he was sitting? 

They sat still for several minutes—Grantaire acutely aware of each breath he took, Enjolras’s brown eyes fixated on him.

Enjolras's expression did not make him feel like he was on display; he was looking at him with neither revulsion or wonder, only with a quizzical look as his eyes traveled over Grantaire's frame. Surely he'd seen him without a shirt before... was he trying to remember when Grantaire did not look so fragile?

“I, um.... is it...?” He went quiet as he realized that Enjolras was looking directly at a certain spot on his abdomen. _Oh._ Only once had Grantaire spoken of that first day on Mars, and it was clear that Enjolras had not forgotten a single word. He could almost _feel_  the shock of it again right then, with the intensity of Enjolras’s stare, the details of the story somehow written plainly across his carved face. 

"Sometimes I think the antenna is still there when I wake up,” Grantaire said quietly, breaking the silence.

"Does it still hurt?"

There was no pity in Enjolras’s voice, and he relaxed at the tone.

"Not so much. In dreams, I suppose."

Enjolras finally tore his eyes away from the scar on his stomach, and his softened brown eyes met blue. They didn’t say anything, after that—everything that needed to be said in that moment was in that gaze.

...

 **EPONINE:** _How did your doctor’s appointment go_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _fine_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _they didn’t find any terminal illnesses today so i guess that’s good_

 **EPONINE:** _Not funny. Still going on your date with blondie tonight?_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _blondie? that’s a new one. and yes, we’re going to the planetarium and then to dinner_

 **EPONINE:** _Just trying out some new names. Since you’re back I feel ‘Apollo’ is copyrighted_

 **EPONINE:** _The planetarium. Oh my god_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _?_

 **EPONINE:** _I mean, it’s cute and all. But surely he knows you’ve had enough space for one lifetime_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _i think it’s a good idea actually, i’m very excited. i don’t get to be a space nerd enough_

 **EPONINE:** _You’re never not a space nerd_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _true_

 **EPONINE:** _Really though, are you excited???_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _i really am. to tell you the truth i’m kind of glad the landlord tried to confiscate my apartment when i ‘died’_

 **EPONINE:** _Oh?_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _it’s given enjolras and i the chance to connect like we never could way back when. i don’t know what it would have been like between us if we didn’t spend so much time together like we do now, i mean... i don’t know, ep. i’m feeling like i used to toward him all those years ago, only better_

 **EPONINE:** _Awww, R_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _shut up. but maybe since i’ve been back enjolras likes me at least, which is something i never thought would happen_

 **EPONINE:** _I doubt that_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _come on, ep. can you really say that you could have seen us getting along like this seven or eight years ago?_

 **EPONINE:** _No, I mean I doubt that he started liking you just because you’ve lived together for six months_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _yeah whatever_

 **EPONINE:** _Trust me_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _uh huh. listen, i’ve got to go get ready. i’ll text you later_

 **EPONINE:** _Have a good time!!! Don’t forget to take your antibiotics and try not to get hypothermia_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _it’s july_

 **EPONINE:** _Knowing you, though_

 **GRANTAIRE:** _shut up_

 **EPONINE:** _Love you too_

_..._

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” Grantaire said, feeling as light as air as Enjolras unlocked the side door of the Musain. “Certainly the best time out of the house over the last few months.”  

At dinner Enjolras realized he had forgotten some paperwork from the meeting, although Musichetta had given them permission to swing by the now-closed cafe. It simply added to the rush of exhilaration of their night, especially since it was the most amount of time he had spent out of the apartment. With the addition of one of Bahorel’s hats and some glasses, he could pass in public without being recognized as _That Astronaut_ so easily. In fact, apart from the cashier at the restaurant, Grantaire hadn’t been recognized once—or, at least in a way that drew attention to him. It was a successful outing, to say the least, and the two of them possessed twin expressions of delight. 

Enjolras flashed a wide grin at him momentarily before he flipped on the closest lamp. “Honestly, me too. I didn’t know what to expect since I had never been to the planetarium before, but it really was spectacular!”

“I still can’t believe that. Are you sure you’re not kidding?”

“Look, I associate that place with like, theme parks, or kids. I didn’t realize it was actually more than that.” Enjolras’s sheepish grin grew as he took a bottle of wine from the cabinet behind the bar, leaving a few bills for Musichetta on the counter.

Grantaire shook his head in mock offense. “I cannot believe you. I mean, even when Gavroche was a kid, you never went with him or anything?”

“I would read him passages from my textbooks to make him fall asleep, and that was the height of my babysitting abilities.”

“Well, the planetarium is good for more than taking kids on the weekends. What did you think my classmates and I would do on breaks? Or my ESA colleagues, for that matter.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras replied, trying not to roll his eyes, “maybe _important_ things?”

“Oh right, because staring at plant samples in the lab for hours on end was the bane of our existence. No, of _course_ not—after work we would put vodka in our water bottles and go stare at the fake stars.”

 _“Grantaire,”_ he chided, unable to hold back the eye roll this time.

“Those were some of the best moments of my training years, thank you. And thank _you,”_ he said, taking the glass of wine from Enjolras. They sat down at one of the tables, unbothered by the usual traffic of the Musain, trying to soak in the peace and quiet before they needed to leave again. 

“Actually, some of my strongest memories of those trips to the planetarium were when they showed the footage from the first Ares missions. I mean, I was only just beginning to work with ESA when Ares I even launched, you know?”

Enjolras nodded and sat back, content to let the wine begin to flow through his body as he listened to Grantaire reminisce. 

“I never dreamed that I’d be on the next one, of course,” Grantaire continued, “but even then, I always felt a connection to the mission, because of those trips. Because we were official ESA employees, they’d let us come in after hours, just to enjoy the place as long as we weren’t in the way of repairs or maintenance. It’s even more beautiful when there’s no one there—kind of like the Musain, right now.”

Enjolras nodded, perfectly able to empathize with that. “I used to come here at night when there were only a few people at the bar, and Combeferre thinks that was the beginning of my life as a night owl. I almost can’t do any work during the day, just because I got so used to completing it here, in the middle of the night.”

Grantaire’s eyes lit up with understanding. _“Exactly._ I got some of the best sleep of my life at that planetarium, under galaxies that seemed closer than I could imagine. Of course, I didn’t realize just _how_ close I would get to see them in real life...”

(They laughed at the irony of it all, and as they had walked through the same planetarium earlier that night, Enjolras had stolen glances at Grantaire’s face—wondering what he was remembering, if he _missed_ it.)

“Enjolras,” he began quietly, an almost tender look in his eyes, “I want to thank you for tonight. Ever since I got back, I just... I’ve wondered if I would be able to enjoy anything without thinking about everything that's happened, without seeing it every second of the day. And tonight proved me wrong. So, thank you,” he finished, raising his glass in Enjolras’s direction. 

The look on Grantaire’s face almost made his heart stop right then and there—it was a mixture of utter wonder, and relief, and a _hint_ of genuine happiness that hadn’t been there for _so_ long. It was exactly what he’d hoped to see. “There isn’t anything to thank me for, Grantaire. I’m just happy you were able to enjoy the Paris that you left.”

Although the echoes of their carefree night, the quiet of the empty Musain, and the warmth of the wine would have been enough for them, Grantaire knew there was more to be said. He wished he had the strength (and the courage) to take Enjolras’s hand, somehow convey what he meant to say in that gesture... but he knew his therapist was right: he had to take it slow. After all, it had been nearly two weeks since Enjolras had asked him out, and they hadn’t done so much as hold hands. Thankfully he was patient with Grantaire beyond belief, fully willing to go as slow as needed—which felt _ridiculous_ to Grantaire since he had come back from Mars touch starved. It made no sense, but he knew it was what he needed... even if he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair and breathe in his scent. He kept his distance, though, and spoke instead.

“Enjolras, I... it’s not just tonight that I want to thank you for. It’s for standing up for me when I was gone, and for being so supportive since I got back. For being there for me even when it was the last thing I wanted.”

“Grantaire...”

“Let me finish,” he said softly. “Even though we were friends before I left, I never dreamed it could be like this, so... so simple. Being able to talk to you about everything, having you as a roommate _and_ a friend, it’s blown me away. I’m so thankful for you, you have no idea.”

Enjolras beamed at him, his eyes shining. “And I am for you.”

“It’s as though everything fell into place after I got back,” he sighed happily. “Like everything that happened meant for us to end up here, in this exact moment, and wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

“Absolutely. And I waited so long for this moment, I didn’t think it would ever come.”

“I know the last few months have been rocky, I just don’t know how to convey my happiness that we’re here anyway. That you still feel like this even after you’ve seen my at my worst.”

Enjolras smiled. “Well, the last few months were hard for you, I knew they would be. I just spent so long hoping for this to happen that by the time you came back I didn’t know that it _c_ _ould_.”

“Yeah, no, I just meant recently. Since we decided to go out, I haven’t felt this happy in... _god,_ who knows how long.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, his voice as light and carefree as their evening had been. “But I was talking about before you got back.”

Grantaire felt his smile freeze in confusion, and had several sudden thoughts all at once. “Wait, what?

“You know, during the mission. I can’t count the number of times I thought—"

“Hold up,” Grantaire breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the smile slowly fading away and Eponine’s texts from that afternoon registered somewhere in the back of his mind. “We just went on our first date, like, a few hours ago...”

“Right,” Enjolras replied in the same casual tone. “But I was talking about my feelings when you were in space.”

“Your feelings?” He managed to ask in a daze, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Your _worry,_ you mean. It’s not like you’re talking about _love,_ here, you asked me out two weeks ago.”

“Of course I love you,” Enjolras said. He tilted his head to the side, smiling at Grantaire’s confusion. “But that’s been longer than two weeks.”

He felt like he was hallucinating. “You...?”

Enjolras chuckled. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t understand,” Grantaire said numbly. _This is too fast. This isn’t right, this isn’t supposed to happen like this. Am I dreaming?_

“I love you,” he said, as though it was the easiest thing, as though his words did not hold the weight of the world. Of the entire galaxy, even. “And I think it’s—"

Enjolras’s mouth was still moving, and Grantaire thought he’d understood the words, but it wasn’t making sense in his mind. His friend, his roommate _,_ his _barely_ boyfriend was standing in front of him, saying the strangest things. He might have been speaking an entirely new language, for all he knew. Grantaire frowned, and blinked for what felt like the hundredth time in ten seconds.

_“What?”_

“I love you,” Enjolras repeated, exhilarated with joy. “I have always loved you, and I... I had to tell you. This was the perfect night, and you had to know.”

Grantaire had begun shaking his head in denial at the word _you_ and hadn’t stopped. He closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of a reaction that hadn’t even happened yet. “No,” he murmured. This was happening too fast. He began to see the absurdity of the situation, how could this ever have worked out for them?

No. This was...

_No._

_I can't do this right now,_ he thought. 

“I can’t imagine life without you, Grantaire, and when you went to space I thought I was going to lose my mind and—"

 _“No,”_ he said, a little more force in his voice. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

Enjolras scoffed lightly. “What? Of course I mean it, why would I be here if I didn’t?”

“You’ve been drinking,” Grantaire said through gritted teeth, finally looking up at Enjolras. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, just like every other person who has talked to me since I got back.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Just leave me be, Enjolras,” he sighed, trying to quell the anxiety in his chest. “I’m going home.”

“No,” the blonde snapped in response. “You don’t get to tell me how I’m supposed to feel! You don’t get to tell me what I want.”

“What you want?” Grantaire snarled, his eyes narrowing. His nerves were alive within a split second. “What you _want?”_

“Yes,” Enjolras said hotly. “I have wanted this for so long. I want _us.”_

The fog that had clouded his mind vanished, leaving an all-consuming tension that felt like it was eating him alive. Months—no, _years_ of stress settled on him like the weight of the universe. He finally snapped under the pressure.

“You only want _this_ because I’m different now!” Grantaire bellowed at him. “Because I’m not the same piece of shit drunkard from when you first met me eight years ago! If I was still _that_ guy, the guy sitting at the back table with the half empty bottle of vodka, you wouldn’t even look at me! You don’t _love_ me! You just love whatever image of me you concocted when I wasn't here to prove it wrong!”

The line between Enjolras’s eyebrows grew more pronounced with each word that was spat at him. “No, goddamn it!” He begged in frustration, desperately trying to blink angry tears away. “No, 'Taire, that’s _not-"_

 _But that's exactly what he means,_ he thought.

_Right?_

Grantaire’s expression was savage, he was _wild_. “Then what? _WHAT IS IT?_ I thought I loved you for years, for _years,_ but I finally grew up, and now you tell me it’s been _always_ for you? _Fuck_ you, you’re insa-"

“I WAS A COWARD!” Enjolras roared, cutting off the venom of his voice. “I just…"

 _“Bullshit,”_ he snarled. “Tell me why it’s different _._ How I’m not just some… some idealized version of success that you fantasized about for the two and a half years I was in space.” Grantaire was trying not to cry now—his voice hitched in his throat as they glared at each other. He threw up his arms in mock surrender. By the time he spoke again, his voice was drained of any fight, any emotion.

“You can’t. I’m still just another cause for you, Enjolras. And it’s only different because _this_ time I’m not the failure. Because I survived. _That’s_ what you can’t admit.”

Enjolras’s shoulders slumped in shock. His eyebrows furrowed, and he stared back at Grantaire helplessly. “You have… no idea. You have _no idea_ what those two years did to me. What they _still_ do to me,” he said in a low voice. Tears continued to roll down his face and his tone grew frantic as he found the words to convey his desperation. “I _was_ a coward, because I didn’t know what I had to lose until we actually lost you! I was so ignorant until that moment. Until the moment we thought you _died,_ you infuriatingly ridiculous, _stubborn_ man—"

Grantaire said nothing in response, too stunned to argue more. They stared at one another, the tension in the room overpowering. When Enjolras began to speak again the raggedness of his voice struck Grantaire. 

“And then we found out you were alive, but it was an endless cycle of not knowing what would happen next, every _single_ night I went to bed not knowing whether you’d make it until dawn.” Enjolras wiped the tears from his cheeks before taking a shaky breath. “So don’t you _dare_ think that I didn’t care, Grantaire _._ Not being able to do anything was the worst feeling I could ever imagine, I really thought it would kill me. I thought it…” He finally looked down, his face the picture of a broken man. 

Grantaire knew that look. He knew it all too well—it haunted his dreams, it had looked back at him in the mirror every morning since Sol 6. The sight sent waves of pain through his chest because he had never once expected _Enjolras_ to have that look on his face. He didn’t think it was possible.

Oh. _Oh._

_Oh god, he..._

_I just..._

_God._

And it was that moment that he genuinely believed in Enjolras, that he wasn’t just a cause. It was so much more; there was so much more between them than he’d ever imagined, that he could let himself _trust_ him and be happy—

“I… I didn’t…” Grantaire started, his voice too thick to continue. He simply shook his head in reverence as Enjolras looked up and two pained gazes met one another.

Enjolras’s voice was rough. “I’ve wondered for _so_ long what you really thought of me, Grantaire. For years. And I’m just… sorry. That any cold behavior on my part in the beginning led to this, that I _ever_ thought of you with disdain. I’m so sorry that you’ve genuinely believed I couldn’t care, and for _so long._ God, all of those years wasted…”

Grantaire slowly approached Enjolras, not breaking eye contact as he continued to talk. He kept walking until they were mere inches in front of each other. The anger was dissipating like oxygen from a crack in his helmet, though it was the very opposite of fear that he felt at the sensation now. 

“I have never thought of you as just a cause, Grantaire, and know you might not believe me because I never showed it. I had so many chances and I’m sorry that it took me so long to even say th-"

“Stop saying sorry,” he murmured, wiping a stray tear from the corner of Enjolras’s eye. He leaned forward just enough so that their foreheads were touching; so close he could count each golden eyelash. Grantaire closed his eyes. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it was…”

“A storm,” he supplied. The feeling of Enjolras’s breath tickling his skin and the warmth of his proximity made him shiver. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire whispered. “Just a storm-"

And then Enjolras suddenly cupped Grantaire’s jaw with one hand and kissed him. The culmination of every moment of heartbreak and fighting had led them here, drinking each other in as though the world were about to end. (Though, they already knew what the end of the world felt like.)

Grantaire didn’t see stars behind his eyelids—that would have made him laugh out loud. No, he felt like he was bathing in pure, overwhelming sunlight. It was like the moment during takeoff, just at the edge of the atmosphere where he could see fire rolling off the nose of the ship... but _this_ fire was so much more intense, and made his heart beat wildly in his chest, leaving him desperately wanting more. They were celestial beings in that moment, and he felt like he was embracing a shooting star. This moment was like the collision of galaxies. Like the sun just exploded and stars were forming deep inside his chest and-

Enjolras made a little muffled sound against Grantaire’s lips and he thought he might die then and there. He abruptly pulled away, leaving them both shuddering. “I thought about you every minute you were gone, you have to know that. And you’re alive, and you're _here_ with me, and I never dreamed I would get this moment but—“ His rambling was cut short again as Grantaire brushed his lips against his jawline, sending shivers down their spines. 

“Enjolras?” He breathed. The closeness of them pressed against each other was like a balm, quelling every pinpoint of lingering tension within his chest—he could never have imagined himself feeling so _complete_. The emptiness of space simply could not rival the feeling of his arms around him, and Grantaire could not breathe, for the very wanting of Enjolras’s lips against his own was as overpowering as a supernova. 

“Yeah?” 

“Just kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This... entire work... has basically been leading up to _that_ scene... I am exhausted... it's seriously been sitting in my drafts for seven months
> 
> -Anyway so at first I wanted something dramatic like that to happen the minute Grantaire was back on Earth, but felt like it wouldn’t have been realistic for them to make up years of tension (and then the trauma of the mission itself) within one or two chapters, hence the extension of the plot. You made it past the slow burn though, congrats
> 
> -I’m so grateful you guys have stuck around, and I’m also happy that several people would enjoy a third work for one shots after this is complete! It will be made up of flashbacks, various scenes from other POVs, and post-canon :)
> 
> -As always, thank you for the support <3


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